


Changing Parameters

by janonny



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janonny/pseuds/janonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year 2671, Mark is rich, famous and estranged from Eduardo. But none of that matters anymore, because his origin as a man-made android is about to be leaked out to the public.</p><p>Warning: There is a little violence in this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Glossary:** There are a few unfamiliar/created-by-me terms used in this story, that are explained within the story itself. However, should you need a quick reference to remember the definition of some things, here's [a link to a short glossary](http://janonny.livejournal.com/31047.html#cutid1). I suggest you only use the glossary if you need it, instead of reading it before the fic. :)

** Prologue **

Mark doesn’t bother knocking. After all, it doesn’t matter if no one is home to let him in.

By the time Eduardo walks into his living room, Mark has been sitting on his couch for the past hour. It takes 2.3 seconds to note Eduardo’s tired expression, his clean cut expensive suit hiding the slump of his shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eduardo finally notices his presence.

“I need to talk to you about something, Wardo,” says Mark, standing up slowly from the couch.

Eduardo stares. “How did you even get in here?”

Instead of replying, Mark merely shrugs. It’s a stupid question. Even though Eduardo doesn’t know his history yet, it should be obvious that not many home security systems in the world can stop Mark.

“Fine, fine, what do you want?” Eduardo asks, cold and clipped.

Mark runs a quick voice comparison. The intonation is harsher now than it ever used to be. During the depositions, his voice only dipped low, eyes ducked down; indications of sadness and being hurt. This time, Mark detects an increase in breathing and dilation of eyes. He doesn’t know how to interpret this data. He files it away to examine later, along with the exabytes of information he never understood about Eduardo.

Mark replies, “I need you to come with me.”

Eduardo frowns. “We haven’t talked in three years, and you want me to just go with you…where?”

“Back to California. It’s not safe for you to stay here,” says Mark, framing the sentence in the simplest manner possible to reduce misunderstanding.

Eduardo falters, looking confused. “This is a really shitty joke, Mark.”

Mark can’t stop the quirk of his lips. “I’m insulted if you think that’s my idea of a joke.”

He can detect Eduardo’s frustration, see it in the agitated way his hand runs through the thick brown hair.

“Fuck, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s going on?” asks Eduardo, his tired stance creeping into his posture again.

“Wardo, are you sleeping enough?” asks Mark, the words tumbling out seemingly without his explicit command.

Eduardo frowns at him. “You’re not here to talk about my sleeping habits.”

Mark shakes his head. “You’re right, I’m not. I need you to come with me because I believe there’s a threat to both our lives.”

“Oh fuck, what have you done now-”

“It isn’t anything I’ve done, it’s because I exist.”

Eduardo looks more worried now and asks, “Maybe I should be asking if _you_ ’ve been sleeping. Are you feeling alright?”

Mark tries again, “That’s irrelevant, but the details behind my existence would help your understanding of our situation.”

“It’s like we’re talking in a different language. I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

“As an android created in an unauthorized project, the US government might try to destroy me now that my existence is on the verge of public knowledge, and I suspect Peter Thiel is going to try to take Eyebook away from me on the same grounds,” explains Mark, trying to be succinct but comprehensive.

For a good 25.68 seconds, Eduardo gapes at him before regaining his voice. “What the hell? Mark, it’s just a joke when people call you a robot. How long have you been awake?”

“It’s an ironic joke because people think they’re joking, when it’s the truth,” Mark remarks with some amusement.

“What?” Eduardo asks, his voice faint.

“I’m a robot.” It’s the first time Mark has ever said it in years. “I’m not human, and I’ve never been human.”

Eduardo’s pupils are blown wide and his hands are trembling. Mark finds himself unable to discern if Eduardo’s shakiness is from the realization that Mark is a robot, or the belief that Mark is having a mental breakdown. Mark needs to rectify this situation to ensure there’s no uncertainty, because the situation cannot afford any more delays.

“There’s no easy way to prove my statement without self-injury, and I don’t enjoy pain so I’d prefer to avoid that,” explains Mark. “However, I can demonstrate by connecting to your TV.”

“This- This is- My TV isn’t online,” Eduardo says, looking uncertain.

Mark turns his head to look at the wall-TV, the device simulating a large window that shows the glittering scenery of the city outside. The simulation ripples and changes into the evening news, displaying a woman talking about the change in leadership in Indonesia.

“The TV, when did you-”

“I hacked in while we were talking,” Mark tells him.

68% of his concentration is on Eduardo, all his receptors and peripherals at maximum sensitivity like they always are when he’s around Eduardo. His processor churns through the flood of data and tries to pick up more, always trying to see every flicker of eyelash, downturn of lips, record every speed of breathing. He only uses 3% of his processing to switch off the channel and feed his visual input to the TV.

Eduardo stares as the wall-TV starts displaying a crystal clear image of his living room instead, as seen from Mark’s perspective. The display shifts as Mark turns to looks around, finally focusing back on Eduardo. It starts a loop of Eduardo gaping at an image of Eduardo on TV gaping at an image of Eduardo on TV.

Slowly, Eduardo sinks into the couch Mark has just vacated.

  


# # # # # # # # # #

** Part 1 **

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

> Mark recalls his childhood home in chronological order with the older events consisting of random short snippets. He remembers toddling around in a big house, memories sharpening into crystal clear clarity around events like the time he ran around as Abraham Lincoln during Halloween, and the first time he connected to a computer. The house seems smaller in later memories, but still tinged with connotations of warmth and closeness.
> 
> He regarded the other five children in the Care Centre as his cousins, and they fought as much as they played together. He doesn’t think about them often now but sometimes, he sees someone’s pet dog, and he remembers how Simon smuggled a dog into the Centre and kept it in his room for a month; he looks at his physical Homer collection, and thinks that Kathleen would be so envious if she saw them, being the only other person who shared his interests in the classics. There are months where he doesn’t think about them at all, then, suddenly he finds his lips curving up at the memory of William, head so high up in the clouds that he stepped on Simon’s skateboard and went flying down the stairs in true slapstick comedy.
> 
> Even back then, Mark knew he was different from the others. He preferred being holed up in his room and learning the patterns he could make out of code, had found that easier to understand than people. The carers at the Centre were kind and affectionate, and they did their best to explain how society worked. Phoebe, his assigned mentor, was always so proud of him, boasted to the barely interested neighbors about Mark’s various achievements.
> 
> Mark was the first among his cousins to realize that none of the carers could connect to the cyber world like they could. The carers weren’t able to run programs through their minds like he can, or see and speak in 1s and 0s. Other people outside the centre couldn’t to do it either, and so he was always cautioned to keep such talents to himself.
> 
> There wasn’t anyone Mark wanted to tell anyway. Sometimes, the others would mess up, and the carers had to do something to smooth over the panicked response of those outside the Centre. It had always blown over the next day, and his cousins would get house-bound for a week as punishment. Mark never had that problem. Maybe it’s because he had never really been good at making friends. People outside often felt strange to him, like they were shallow or distracted, living life based on some rule he couldn’t understand.
> 
> One day, Phoebe sat him down to tell him that he would be leaving the Centre. He had only been 18, but they had considered that to be the most suitable timing. They avoided answering most of his questions, citing that they would explain the next day.
> 
> At the time, he shrugged off the strangeness as melodramatics. He went to bed like it was any other day.
> 
> But the next day wasn’t like any other day.
> 
> He woke up in a room he didn’t recognize. The feelings he experienced that day were too complicated, too difficult for him to sort through and understand even now. He felt cold, like his limbs were stiff and heavy. For the first hour, he just lay there, blinking up at the white ceiling, feeling a strange combination of exhaustion and peaked senses. He knew immediately that he wasn’t in the Centre anymore.
> 
> For the first time in his life, he felt chest-hurting panic, his thoughts a mess of rubbish, looping code.
> 
> The door opened, and a woman walked into the room in a hurry.
> 
> “Mark, you’re awake!” she exclaimed in seeming delight.
> 
> He noted her dark hair, and dark eyes, the muted red of her lipstick. She was wearing a white lab coat, and her breathing was fast, a sign of excitement.
> 
> “Who are you?” he asked.
> 
> The words had lit a smile on her face so bright it was like he had given her the best present on Earth.
> 
> On Ejection Day, Mark’s existence was explained to him by his creators.
> 
> He will always think about the day in capital letters, illogical as it may be.
> 
> His life before Ejection Day had unfolded in a Virtual Reality simulation running on powerful Supercomputer clusters. The processing speed of the VR simulation had been on average five times faster than real time outside the simulation. His 18 years of experience in the simulation had taken 3.6 years in real time to complete.
> 
> Through presentations, they showed him the scope of the project. His mind had started as the most simplistic Artificial Humanistic Intelligence (ARTHI), with the basic ability to learn and expand its own base code. Unlike other ARTHI androids that start with very detailed intelligent design and purpose, the Centre’s ARTHIs had started as enclosed seed programs with broad objectives; Survive, Grow and Learn.
> 
> He had exceeded all expectations, they informed him eagerly, proudly even. When he looked at Felicity’s dark brown eyes, he realized that her familiarity was no coincidence. Phoebe was a computer generated parental figure modeled closely after her. In fact, Felicity probably interacted with him before through Phoebe.
> 
> His body, a very close imitation of the human body despite being made out of silicon and electronics, had been ready for a year before his Ejection Day. His Core, the self-renewing power source located where the human heart should be, had been turned on for just as long.
> 
> Ejection Day wasn’t a random date they had chosen. They had unplugged his processor from the Supercomputer clusters on this day for a reason.
> 
> As part of their explanation, they handed him a MultiPud. He hadn’t used Multi Purpose Devices much before – why would he, when he could run most calculations in his own head, connect himself to any network – but he had known vaguely that it primarily functioned as a communication tool, hand-size computer and payment pass.
> 
> Fumbling with the device, Mark turned it on to find that the day’s news had been called up on the screen.
> 
> The headlines were in large, bold font: ARTHIS GRANTED HUMAN RIGHTS.
> 
> On Ejection Day, Mark learned that he was an android.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

# # # # # # # # # #

Eduardo and Mark take Mark’s private plane back to the US. Mark has exhaustively checked the background of the pilot, co-pilot and two air-hostesses flying with them. He can’t take the risk that they’re from the military, because he knows how vulnerable they are up in the air.

Eduardo has been moving in a sort of shell-shocked haze, only pushing his thoughts far away enough to sink into a professional and efficient businessman mode while he tidies up all his affairs in less than a day. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be away so he delegates most of his work and turns down new offers.

One of the air-hostesses asks if he wants the bird’s eye view. Mark likes the option of seeing through the floor of the plane to take in the view of the skies right beneath their feet as they fly, but he opts to keep the plane opaque. Eduardo probably doesn’t realize how his spine unbends a little when he hears Mark decline the offer. It might be Mark’s preference to have the sky surrounding him when he’s flying, but he knows Eduardo is afraid of heights. He doesn’t want Eduardo to be scared stiff for the entire flight.

Once they’re up in the air, Mark turns on his MultiPud to read about the history of Ancient China. While he’s able to take in the literature, he finds that he can’t wrestle 70% of his attention from Eduardo. He has high multitasking functionalities so he soldiers on with the text.

He knows Eduardo is nursing a drink, staring out of the window while ignoring his own MultiPud held loosely in his other hand. He knows Eduardo is calm, breathing normal, comfortable even though he’s wearing a ridiculous suit jacket for their flight.

It doesn’t feel that much different from Eduardo who knows the truth, to Eduardo who doesn’t. The delineation is clearer between Eduardo before the dilution and Eduardo after the dilution.

Mark still has contrary code coming up at the knowledge of Eduardo knowing the truth. It’s been so ingrained in him to hide. On his Ejection Day – the third of July, 2665 – Felicity had shown him the article about ARTHIs’ civil rights, and another about an android being destroyed by a mob on the same day. The second had been a jolt to the system as he had realized that his very existence is despised by some. A nanny android named Harriet Cage, having been bought by the Cage family years ago, had been at the mall with the family’s teenage son. As one of the earlier prototypes, she must have been easily identifiable as an android. In one violent reaction to the ARTHI Rights bill, a mob led by the Humans First group had grabbed Harriet and literally ripped her apart.

It had been a harsh lesson to learn on Ejection Day.

Eduardo speaks up, interrupting his gruesome thoughts, “Tell me again why I’m in danger.”

Mark looks up to see Eduardo finally looking at him. He had been unable to calculate the chances of Eduardo’s behavior towards him changing. There had been too many variables when he had tried to work out if Eduardo would start to look at him with disgust, treat him as less than human.

But Eduardo’s gaze is steady, no difference discernible through Mark’s lenses and sensors.

Mark begins explaining in more detail now, “The military had hired Strider Robotics to build androids that could pass as humans. When the military ended the project, Strider was supposed to destroy everything, but a group of scientists had secretly kept the facility going. Recently, there have been rumors about an android high up the food chain in Silicon Valley, and if the government finds out the truth, they might target me to remove evidence of their involvement.”

At this explanation, Mark wonders how Eduardo will react. There is a possibility that Eduardo’s easy acquiescence so far is due to his shock, and it might not last for much longer.

Eduardo frowns. “How do you know for sure that you’re in danger? You’re a high profile CEO, your death or disappearance would draw a lot of public attention.”

Mark puts his MultiPud down, keeping his face expressionless. “Kristen and William have already disappeared. They- We were in the same VR simulation when I was a seed program.”

Leaning his elbows on his knees, Eduardo’s eyes search his face. “I’m not an expert in the computer sciences. Explain it to me.”

“Which part?”

Eduardo takes a deep breath, like he’s summoning patience. “The part about being in a VR simulation with Kristen and William as a seed program, and how you’re no longer a program in a simulation.”

Mark breaks eye contact and tries to explain the basics, “Our complicated and detailed Virtual Reality simulation ran on Supercomputer clusters, the clusters being Supercomputers networked together for parallel processing. A few of our Supercomputers were sourced from overseas through underground support of interested parties. The simulation was designed to conduct the growth of the ARTHI seed programs – Artificial Humanistic Intelligence refers to the simulation of human rationale and emotions which can involve the close replication of the human mind and body with most of their functions.”

“I know about ARTHIs,” inserts Eduardo.

“I just wanted to be clear because people always confuse ARTHI with AI, which is idiotic. Artificial Intelligence might have self-learning functions, but it hardly resembles the complex human thought process, and it’s ridiculous when people start comparing ARTHI to a car’s AI, or the-”

“Mark, I get it. I’ve heard this rant often enough,” interrupts Eduardo again.

The unspoken ‘from you’ rings clear and loud. Mark knows that, but inexplicably, it’s easier to talk about the technical basics of his origins rather than continue on about his personal conception.

He forces himself to get to the point. “In the VR, the seed programs translated to children. We were raised by carers, which were stagnant programs that imitate parental figures and were occasionally used by the scientists outside the VR to communicate with us. The idea was to produce ARTHIs as close to human beings as possible. There were five Care Centers spread across the simulation, each center had six seed programs. Kristen, William and I were in the same center.”

“You grew up with them,” Eduardo says.

Mark shrugs. “In a manner of speaking. As much as one can grow up in a VR simulation.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” points out Eduardo.

The line of discussion makes Mark uncomfortable so he continues, “Each individual seed program had been connected to the Supercomputer on our own separate processors. When we were at 18 simulation years of age, our processors were disconnected from the Supercomputer and inserted in humanoid robotic constructs with an aging function. We were then sent into the real mass population on our own.”

He fell silent, deciding that Eduardo could extrapolate from that amount of information. The heavy eyebrows come together in a deep frown, and Mark captures this image of Eduardo’s large eyes with their unusual liquid depths. It’s a phrase which leaps to the fore of Mark’s processor despite its highly inaccurate depiction of human eyes.

“Are you alright, Mark?” asks Eduardo.

Mark blinks. “Aside from a government bent on destroying my existence, what makes you think I wouldn’t be?”

Eduardo shakes his head. “Other than that, two of your siblings- they’re missing.”

Without his order, Mark’s left hand curls into a fist. “They were my cousins. After Ejection, we were told to avoid contact for our own safety. We have spoken very sporadically in the last seven years.”

“That doesn’t make them any less than family to you,” says Eduardo, looking pained for some reason.

Mark picks up his MultiPud with his right hand, unable to unclench his left fist for some reason. He doesn’t understand why Eduardo is asking him this. Even Chris and Dustin had not brought this up when he had briefly told them the truth before rushing off to Singapore. They had been more focused on how they thought Mark had lost his mind and the implications when he had proven to them the truth.

“I’m an android. Family I’ve spoken about in the past was just part of my cover story while pretending to be human. I have no family,” says Mark, trying to force his eyes to decipher the words on his MultiPud. Strange, his visual peripherals have never failed him before.

He almost jumps when he feels Eduardo squeezing his clenched left hand. He looks up briefly to see that Eduardo has reached over the table, face looking a strange combination of uncomfortable and sad. Mark feels like his chest is bound tight, like he’s rooted to his seat. Perhaps he needs another full diagnostic scan to determine what’s wrong with his construct.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” says Eduardo, voice quiet and again, indecipherable to Mark.

“If you have no other questions, I’d like to finish this before the flight is over. We can discuss this further in California with Chris and Dustin, so I don’t have to cover the same ground again,” Mark says, emotionless.

Eduardo releases his hand and nods, leaning back in his own chair. His face looks creased, faint shadows under his eyes. He looks tired. Eduardo needs to take better care of himself. When Mark is gone, he’ll have to ask Dustin and Chris to check in on Eduardo.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

They go straight to Dustin’s house from the airport in a car Mark rents from the airport; Chris had texted to say that he’s already at Dustin’s. Eduardo looks a little disturbed by all of Mark’s precautions, but that’s to be expected as the situation probably hasn’t really sunk in yet for him.

When they arrive, both Chris and Dustin immediately hug Eduardo, not having seen him in awhile. When he’s done, Dustin gives Mark an exuberant hug as well, while Chris pats his back and smiles.

“It’s like Harvard again, we’re all back together!” cheers Dustin.

Mark puts down his bags and heads to a couch. “No, it’s not. None of us were billionaires in Harvard, and Eduardo is here to stay safe, he’s not here for a social visit.”

It’s his way of pointing out that he and Eduardo have not resolved their differences. The message is delivered loud and clear, as Dustin’s face falls.

Chris sighs. “Way to make it awkward, Mark.”

Hovering near the doorway, Eduardo finally asks, “I’m pretty tired from the flight, but I think we need to talk about what’s going on here.”

“I agree,” Chris says firmly, corralling all of them to the seats in the living room with quick motions. “Mark didn’t tell us much before he went haring off to Singapore, and I think we need more details. To be honest, I’m not even sure I can bring myself to believe what little he has shown me.”

Mark leans back, disgruntled. “Why is it so hard to believe? You have helper and worker ‘droids who have been granted human rights, and half the children these days are practically raised by nanny ‘droids who spend more time with the kids than the parents do. Obviously, technology has made it possible for androids to be individual and capable of independent direction. Our only difference is that androids such as myself are advanced enough that we’re indistinguishable from humans unless you cut us open.”

Chris winces at the imagery, but Dustin merely shrugs and points out, “I can understand it, mentally, but it’s hard to really, really believe it, you know? All the ‘droids we know don’t look like you.”

Existing androids may be humanoid, but their faces can only convey basic expressions, mostly stiff and a little plastic. There is no mistaking an android for a human. Out of the four of them, only Dustin has a hired worker android, who comes in every morning to clean his house. Dustin swears the android is the most efficient housekeeper he has ever had, which Mark thinks should be a given.

Chris waves a hand. “Okay, let’s just concentrate on what’s important here first. Mark, you said that two other androids from your same program have disappeared. What makes you think it’s the government’s work?”

“Actually, I’ve realized that Strider Robotics could be our other suspect. There are really only two suspects based on motives. The government’s motive would be to cover up our existence, because the US is supposed to have restrictions on creating ARTHIs, and they never went public with this particular attempt. Strider might want to do the same, because a few renegade scientists running off to complete unauthorized projects could seriously undermine their reputation and threaten their other government contracts. I’d lean towards Strider now, based on how clumsily the disappearances have been executed. If it’s our government, they have virtually unlimited military resources, I would hope they could do a better job.”

It’s a new theory that occurred to him gradually while he had been explaining things to Eduardo.

Dustin squints at him. “Now I know how you go on and on like you don’t need to breathe. Because you probably _don’t_ need to breathe, do you?”

Ignoring that comment, Chris asks, “How were their disappearances clumsy?”

Always pleased to ignore Dustin, Mark says, “Kristen vanished, leaving behind a boyfriend, a job in the police force, and a pool of blood by the road. If it was the Government, they would have concocted a reason for her disappearance so that her- the people she left behind wouldn’t be left questioning. William, who is a writer, has an entire fan base and his friends looking for him. His fans have even set up an Eyebook account to help find him.”

“What about your other cousins? Are they safe?” asks Eduardo suddenly.

“I’ve sent them all warnings, even those from the other Centres. More than half have gone into hiding. The rest are putting their affairs in order,” says Mark.

Staring at him, Eduardo asks with an undercurrent of urgency, “Why haven’t you gone into hiding as well? What are you still doing here, especially when the rumors circulating seem most likely about you, so you’re the one in most danger?”

Chris and Dustin look taken aback by this.

“I have a lot of loose ends to tie up first,” says Mark.

“What loose ends could be more important than your life?” demands Eduardo, voice pitched higher in frustration.

“This _is_ my life. I’m more than the total sum of running processors, pumping blood and a ticking Core. All the things that I have to do are my life, and I’m not dropping it all just to keep existing.”

Mark notes distantly that Chris is murmuring, “Core? Aren’t those huge?”

“Yeah, but this- It has to be a shrunk down, advanced version of those used to power our vehicles. Coren Technologies must have had a stake in creating the ARTHIs,” whispers Dustin back, not very quietly in his excitement.

But Mark dismisses their conversation as inconsequential. He’s focused on Eduardo, and whatever Eduardo hears, it’s not what Mark is trying to say. He looks angry.

“You think Eyebook is your life, and you’re willing to sacrifice your _existence_ for it. You’ve never been able to see that you’re more than that.”

Mark decides this is a stupid and illogical argument, based on Eduardo’s knowledge of him several years ago. Eduardo doesn’t understand him anymore, and he still isn’t taking into account the revelation that Mark is an android. Mark’s needs and purpose can’t always be understood in relation to other humans.

He snaps, “You’re judging me based on your experience with humans, but I’m not like any other human. You don’t know me enough to pass judgment.”

Eduardo’s eyes flare hot. “You’re definitely not like any other human, because you’re the asshole who was my best friend in Harvard, who pushed me out of the company I helped build. Do you really think I don’t know you well enough just because I didn’t know you were an android?”

Mark glares at him. “I think your melodramatic proclamation based on your own emotionally-clouded reasoning isn’t relevant to this discussion.”

He observes the flattened lips, dip of the eyes, calling on his database of memories to draw up comparisons, and he determines that Eduardo is hurt by his words. He knows his words are harsher than necessary, but as always, he finds it difficult to say anything to change them once they’re spoken.

“Why am I here, Mark?” Eduardo asks. “What do I have to do with all this then?”

Mark twitches, wanting a MultiPud in his hand so he can look at it and avoid Eduardo’s dark, demanding gaze. “Any close connections I have- I had, they can be used against me. I have to know where everyone is so that no one gets used as bait.”

Eduardo raises an eyebrow in that annoying way of his. “So you have close connections that you admit can be used against you, but you’re not like any other human.”

“It’s not the same,” Mark starts, before closing his mouth. He doesn’t want to go down this train of thought. “What I think doesn’t matter. What’s important is what Strider thinks.”

“Then why don’t I see Sean Parker here? Or Erica? Aren’t they your past connections?” shoots off Eduardo, displaying the quick thinking Mark used to like in him, though he doesn’t know why he ever did. It’s irritating and distracting.

It’s too good a point, and one that Mark has acknowledged for awhile. The chances of Eduardo getting embroiled in this when he has been out of Mark’s life for the past four years is less than 5%, similar to Sean and Erica’s chances of being pulled into this. But Mark registers a 5% risk of danger as unacceptably high a chance when paired up with the name Eduardo Saverin, a logic that Mark isn’t able to articulate.

Mark attempts to deflect. “I also need you here to sign the contract where I divide my Eyebook shares between the three of you.”

This is enough to break Eduardo’s line of questioning, as Mark suspected it would. “What are you talking about?”

Dustin cuts in, “Woah, Mark, has hell frozen over? You want to give up your majority control?”

Mark starts tapping his finger against the couch, giving in to the familiar motion. “Peter Thiel could be using this opportunity, the idea that I was lying about my identity, to get rid of me as CEO and majority shareholder.”

“Wow, the irony of you being kicked out is pretty strong here,” Eduardo mutters.

Dustin kicks him unsubtly in the shin, and receives a glare in return. Neither of them looks repentant.

Without expression, Mark makes a note to test for a bug his body may have picked up. It might explain the dip in his processing speed, and how his memory is constantly churning out images of times when Eduardo was happier, smiled at him more, instead of constantly using sharp, bitter words.

Chris interrupts his thoughts. “That doesn’t make sense, Mark. ARTHIs have been granted human rights for years now. They can’t kick you out of your company just because you’re one. That’s discrimination.”

Frowning, Mark tries to break down his logic that had seemed so simple and obvious just a day ago. “People are used to ARTHIs who are stiff-faced ‘droids from Japan and Germany, who usually hold regular working positions. People aren’t familiar with ARTHis as advanced as I am, and no ARTHI has ever held the position of CEO before. Thiel might take this opportunity to contest my suitability as CEO considering I’m an android, citing my past negative interaction with shareholders as a liability, and I’m not sure a court won’t side with him if it gets that far.”

“So what, you want to give up before you even go to court?” Dustin demands, lips turned down.

“I want to take the precaution to put the company in hands I trust rather than Thiel’s,” explains Mark, even though it should be obvious.

Eduardo gets up, shaking his head. “Mark, you kicked me out of the company and stripped me of most of my shares until I sued you, and now you’ve dragged me across the planet, and you want to give me part of your shares. And you want to do this without even talking to me about what happened?”

He stares, but Mark just stares back in silence. What happened in the past should be irrelevant to their discussion now. Mark wants to ensure that the three of them have equal distribution of shares, not to try to reconcile with Eduardo when he knows that’s unachievable.

When he gets no answer, Eduardo’s face smoothens into a blank, stiff mask. “I need a minute.”

He leaves the living room in a stiff-backed gait, and Mark wonders where he’s going since this is the first time he’s been here. Mark makes to get up, but Chris gestures for him to stay where he is, and goes after Eduardo instead.

For less than a second, Mark considers eavesdropping by hacking into Eduardo’s or Chris’ phone, and listening in by way of the phone’s microphone. But he decides against it because- Because.

“You didn’t settle things with him in the five hour flight over?” says Dustin, sounding resigned.

Mark catalogues his tired expression, his unusually muted voice. Every time Eduardo is brought up around them, he has noticed Dustin and Chris’ sadness. They have not been happy about the break in friendships either.

Staring back, void of expression, Mark just shrugs.

Dustin shakes his head. “I know it’s hard. I’ve apologized to him, and it took awhile for us to be friends again, but-”

Mark looks at him sharply. “You apologized to him?”

“Well, yeah. What? You think we were still friends after I just sat by while you gave him a shit contract to sign? I might not have known the details of your plan with Thiel and Parker, but I’m not so stupid that I didn’t know something was up. _But_ I was stupid enough to think that I shouldn’t interfere and you guys would work it out before it got too bad,” says Dustin, his voice laced with bitter self-hatred that is so sharp and uncommon, Mark stares.

“I- I didn’t realize he knew.”

“I told him. I couldn’t not after I realized how far it went. When I saw Eduardo’s face at Eyebook, the day he smashed your screen, I just, what the fuck was I thinking to just say nothing, like I wouldn’t be involved if I just kept quiet. When Chris found out, fuck, he didn’t talk to me for days. _I_ didn’t want to talk to myself for days,” says Dustin with a pained disbelief.

Mark remembers. He remembers because Dustin and Chris both hadn’t talked to him for weeks after that.

Dustin continues, “So yeah, I apologized. And it took awhile, but I think we’re okay again. I never told you because whenever I brought up Wardo, you just, you shut down, well not literally now that I know that might be an option for you, but you just become this blank-faced creepy wall, or you walk away.”

Looking away, Mark says, “It’s just easier. There’s nothing I can do to, to fix this, so what would talking about it do?”

“Aha! So you do actually want to fix this!”

Mark gives him a scathing look. “No, I like to be on non-speaking terms with someone who used to be my best friend.”

“Then you should at least try to do something about it. Especially now,” asks Dustin. “It’s going to be difficult for Wardo to go with your plans when he’s still angry with you. Hell, I don’t know if I want to go along with your mad idea either.”

“It’s a good plan. If I pass the shares over to the three of you, Thiel can’t take control from us. It’s a preemptive move,” explains Mark, not understanding why it’s so hard for them to accept it.

Dustin rubs his head. “I don’t know about this… It feels like you’re just rushing to give up. And the rumors that a CEO is an ARTHI have been going around the Silicon Valley for the past week. If Thiel really suspects you, he would have made his move already.”

Mark answers in a flat tone, “He’s making his move next week. He’s asked for a meeting with me.”

Dustin stares at him with wide eyes, mouth gaping for a few seconds. “What the fuck, Mark, and you’re only telling us now?”

Mark lets some irritation seep into his voice. “I wasn’t given the chance to mention it earlier.”

“I want to be there.”

Turning, Mark realizes that Chris must have been successful in coaxing Eduardo back. He doesn’t understand why, but his spine unbends a little, and he feels less bottled up. Chris squeezes Eduardo’s shoulder in support before perching himself on the arm of the couch. Eduardo remains standing.

“Why?” asks Mark. “We can sign all the documents today, I have them here, and I can call a couple of lawyers in as witnesses. There’s no need for you to meet Thiel.”

Eduardo shakes his head, arms loose at his sides. “I want to see Peter before we sign the contracts. I think we should talk to him first before jumping to conclusions.”

Mark tilts his head, drawing his own facts from the way Eduardo says his name. “You’ve been in contact with Thiel.”

Making a face, probably at being read so easily, Eduardo replies, “You would be surprised how many companies the man has a finger in. It’s hard to do business in our field without talking to him at all.”

“I thought you would hate him.”

Mark doesn’t understand it, because Eduardo hates Mark, it’s clear, but he’s fine with Thiel? The idea, the thought of it, jumbles Mark’s processing, throws a loop of errors consisting of ‘Why? Why? Why?’

“I don’t _like_ him, but he and I understand each other now,” says Eduardo with a grimace. “In any case, I think I know how his mind works as a businessman. We should talk to him first. At the very least, I should be able to negotiate with him.”

Chris speaks up, “This sounds like a much more rationale option, Mark. Your splitting up your shares and distributing it to the three of us would cause so much worry amongst the people that there’s a possibility that Eyebook’s shares could suffer. I don’t know if you’ve considered the legalities of Eduardo owning more shares either, after the lawsuit.”

This is enough to have both Eduardo and Mark looking away, avoiding eye contact with one another. Mark wants to argue, is feeling conflicted even though it’s illogical, but he doesn’t want to go back to the original topic. His original linear plan has been disrupted and he’s not sure what to do now.

He just shrugs in the end, in a way that he’s been told is supremely irritating and douchey-looking. Mark doesn’t care. He gets up and heads to his office to go over the contracts. He has considered all the legalities, has spent the past week drawing up the contracts with his lawyers. There are a lot of penalties to pay, and there’s a possibility it will get challenged in a lawsuit, but it’s a solid contract that should hold up against that. He’ll feel better having his back-up ready to this nonsensical plan to go see Thiel.

# # # # # # # # # #

Eduardo had wanted to stay in a hotel during his duration here, but Mark had insisted they stay together. There had been frowns and stilted discussions, before Eduardo had finally given in to Mark’s superior logic about safety in numbers. Mark doesn’t like the idea of going back to his home when so many people know where it is, but it does have the advantage of having the highest security he can afford. Which is pretty high considering how much he can afford.

Dustin and Chris see them off with worried frowns and admonishments not to kill each other.

Mark doesn’t think this bodes well for them.

The first night passes by peacefully enough, mostly because Eduardo is still tired from the flight and goes to bed almost immediately. He doesn’t even look around the house, just goes straight to the room Mark gives him, and closes the door behind him quietly. Mark doesn’t see him until the next night, after he comes back from work at Eyebook. He needs to keep up the appearances that nothing is wrong. Working is a good distraction anyway.

When he comes home, they order Thai takeaway and sit around the living room to eat their dinner.

Mark watches Eduardo eat his noodles, observing that he looks less tired now and his shoulders aren’t rounded like he’s the living human version of Atlas, carrying the weight of heavens on his back. He wonders if no one is taking care of Eduardo in Singapore, which is hard to imagine, because people are always drawn to Eduardo. He should have plenty of friends willing to look after him. Maybe Eduardo doesn’t let them. After a few moments, he realizes that Eduardo is staring back at him.

“So do you really need to eat?” asks Eduardo, no hint of anything but curiosity in his voice.

It should feel like Eduardo is sizing him up the way people do a specimen under a microscope. But this is Eduardo. The interest in him just seems familiar, like the first time Eduardo had asked curiously, “So you like to code?”

Mark swallows the chicken he was chewing on, as if in demonstration. “Not as often as humans need to. My body still needs food to convert it into useful substances and secretions, but I have a Core battery which is boosted by solar energy.”

His pseudo-heart is one of the world’s most efficient batteries. Coren Technologies has taken over the world’s energy industry, wiping out the archaic mineral-based power sources. Before the military had pulled the plug on the project, they had sponsored the procurement of the small, but efficient Core batteries. Their Cores have a lifespan of 150 years, which is longer than some of their other parts will last.

“So you’re solar-powered as well,” states Eduardo in faint bemusement.

“I’m environmentally friendly that way,” says Mark with a shrug, earning a small smile from Eduardo.

They go back to eating their respective meals. Mark thinks that Eduardo would prefer silence, that they’ll spend the next few days without talking. But Eduardo defies expectation as always.

“Why did the US government fund that project originally?”

Eduardo is watching Mark with a deeper intensity than before, like he’s relearning this Mark but with a map of silicone and circuitry instead.

“To see if it’s possible to create the perfect spy,” Mark replies.

Eduardo’s eyes widen. “Unstoppable, super spies?”

Rolling his eyes, Mark puts his mostly finished meal down. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do I look like I’m unstoppable or super? Physically, we’re more resilient than the human body. We’re slightly stronger, more able to withstand high and low temperatures, less dependent on sleep and food. Otherwise, our bodies are designed to imitate the human body. We even have fluid similar to blood in our constructs.”

“Huh. Not that there’s anything wrong with you, but I thought the government would leap at the opportunity to create a spy superior to other humans,” points out Eduardo.

“It’ll be lamer if I get exposed as an android over a paper cut, or when I walk through the airport scanners,” says Mark, a touch condescending.

“Good point,” agrees Eduardo with a shrug. “But what would be the benefit then? It’s kind of a big and time-consuming project just to produce slightly-superior humans.”

Mark wonders if Eduardo is using the word ‘humans’ here on purpose or carelessly. He cannot make out his own thoughts on this.

He says brusquely, “Slightly-superior humans with unshakeable loyalty to the US.”

Eduardo looks disturbed. “Programmed loyalty?”

“That was the idea. A deep, abiding patriotism was supposed to be hard coded into us.”

“But that never happened. Or at least, I’ve never noticed a deep, abiding patriotism anyway.”

“Because the government pulled their funding,” explains Mark. “The programmers took that bit out in the early days, when the base code was still changeable. They saw no need to have that in place when the project was basically running on their own private funding, without the government’s knowledge. Felicity, one of the project leads, had always thought that hard coding something like ‘loyalty’ would impede the natural growth of our mi- intelligence.”

They lapse into silence for a moment. Mark idly measures Eduardo’s breathing, committing it to memory. The silence is almost familiar, similar to times when they would just sit together quietly, working on their own projects.

Eduardo finds another question, one that leads to a total change of topic. “Why did you want to go into business with me?”

Mark says without processing further. “I wanted to go into business with my best friend.”

It feels odd to say this in front of Eduardo, rather than to people he hardly knew in a deposition room.

There’s a short pause, and Mark observes the minute changes in Eduardo’s dark eyes and mouth, indicating pleasure. “How does a robot determine who’s their best friend?”

Eduardo is wearing a faint smile, to show him he isn’t serious. It’s one of the things Mark has always liked about Eduardo; his occasional strange sense of humor.

“I do...experience an approximation of human emotions,” Mark tries to explain, not doing it well. “I’m not human and I don’t have feelings like you do, but my programming was designed to mimic human thought. To me, I have nothing for personal comparison. Logically, it can’t be the same as human emotion, but I-”

Mark lapses into sudden silence because he doesn’t know where he’s taking this. It feels like he just argued himself onto the losing side, even though there should be no ‘winners’ or ‘losers’ in this benign conversation.

“It’s only logical that I would have wanted to start a business with someone I felt comfortable around,” Mark sums up clumsily.

With an edge of disbelief, Eduardo says, “Your approximation of human emotions led you to want to start a venture with an approximation of your human best friend.”

Mark frowns. “That isn’t what I said, and that doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s because what you said was all gibberish. The point of an ARTHI is to be as close to human as possible, which involves having _emotions_. Why are you trying to make it all about logic again?”

Why? Mark doesn’t even know why. His initial response was truthful, but he doesn’t want to delve into the specifics because it’ll lead to more questions of ‘whys’, why did he do it then, and some things cannot be forgiven no matter how much he explains it.

“I’m just explaining what I think is true, it’s not my fault it doesn’t match your own opinion,” says Mark, sharp.

He doesn’t know what it is he sees in Eduardo’s eyes, but maybe it is something close to pity. “I think you don’t like the idea that you’re more human than you think. It would mean that you’re fallible.”

Mark doesn’t need pity. He doesn’t _want_ it.

“I think you dislike the idea that I’m more robot than you think. Does it make you feel worse that a robot of logical thinking screwed you out of the company?” snaps Mark.

The hurt in those dark eyes is sharp, like a hand squeezing Mark’s guts of circuitry and faux blood.

“Fuck you, Mark,” grits out Eduardo, standing up and marching up the stairs, abandoning his dinner.

Eduardo has always been prone to dramatics, and that much hasn’t changed obviously. Mark is affected as well though, his body experiencing a rise in temperature and Core beat.

Mark stares at Eduardo’s unfinished food. Eduardo shouldn’t leave his food unfinished. He’s too thin as he is now.

It’s only logical that Mark regrets provoking him into abandoning his food.

Logical.

# # # # # # # # # #

The next morning, Mark decides not to go in to work. He calls in sick, lowering his voice by 200 hertz to be a more convincing act of being ill. It’s not like anyone will call him out for faking it, but he doesn’t want his personal assistant to be suspicious.

Mark makes a note to stock up on fresh food after staring at his empty fridge. He pulls out a few food bars instead, breakfast flavored. He lays down seven, ranging from bacon-flavored protein bars to strawberry-flavored mueslis.

Eduardo is rubbing his eyes as he comes down the stairs, and he visibly startles when he sees Mark there. He must have thought that Mark had gone to work, which might explain why he is in loose drawstring pants and a dark T-shirt. Mark wants to look away before he catalogues everything into his permanent memory banks, but it’s too late. He’ll forever remember the hint of hipbones as the pants slip further down, and how vulnerable Eduardo’s feet look when they’re bare against Mark’s carpeted floor.

“I don’t have much in stock, but we have food bars,” offers Mark.

Eduardo blinks. “We?”

Eduardo is either still unhappy after last night or he’s too bleary from having just woken up. Mark cannot tell which with certainty anymore. The time apart means that there are potential factors he’s no longer privy to.

“Can I suggest a truce?” says Mark, a little stiff.

“A truce?” says Eduardo.

“Repeating what I say is not going to make this a coherent conversation,” Mark says before he can stop himself. He winces. “That was rude. You’re still waking up. But I mean what I said earlier, I would like a truce. It’ll be difficult living together if we don’t…try.”

He doesn’t want to explain further. Eduardo of the old would have understood this as the only type of olive branch Mark has to offer.

And it seems Eduardo knows at least this much still, because his eyes sharpen as he shakes the sleep off and nods. “You’re right. It’s hard for me to get over some- my issues. But I’ll try while I’m here.”

If Dustin or Chris were here, they would elbow Mark, and try to get him to address those issues Eduardo is referring to. But they’re not, so they don’t get a say, even from Mark’s limited imagination.

“Alright. That’s good. Yeah,” says Mark unnecessarily before he tries to pull himself together. “You should have breakfast now, Wardo. You shouldn’t skip anymore meals, when you look like you’ve lost weight in the last few years. Based on your age, height, frame, and current estimated weight, you need to eat more.”

For some reason, Eduardo smiles a little as his gaze drops to the bars on the counter. He picks up a mandarin-orange protein bar and offers it to Mark.

“You’re one to talk about eating habits. But I suppose all those skipped meals make more sense now,” comments Eduardo with a shake of his head.

Mark takes the offered bar.

“This is my favorite,” he says, a little bit inanely he realizes in retrospect.

Eduardo seems very focused on peeling the wrapper of a hash brown bar. “I know.”

# # # # # # # # # #

Later in the day, they both log on to Eyebook, which is the first time they’ve used the site in the same room at the same time in years.

Mark browses Eyebook idly on his MultiPud, checking to see if the latest update to the site and servers has decreased the loading time required by 0.2 seconds as planned. He could log on through his own processor, but he wants to check the performance of Eyebook accessed through another device. He received a report this morning which confirms the success of the change, but he likes to see things for himself.

He looks up occasionally to see Eduardo staring blankly ahead. Eduardo must have his EyeVisuals on; a pair of contact lenses that allow the user to see Eyebook’s interface as an overlay on top of normal human vision. He can see that Eduardo has his Eyebook touch-activated, thumb flicking against the palm of his hand, where the thin silica layer acting as a control pad lies. The EyeControl molds to the palm and is powered by both body heat and the taps made on it to navigate Eyebook.

With EyeVisuals and EyeControls – better known together as EyeC, Dustin’s supposedly clever play on the words ‘I See’ – turned on, anyone can use Eyebook anywhere. Mark remembers how Felicity, his carer, had chided him that humans can’t literally connect their brains to the cyber world, and if he wants to blend in, he has to use a MultiPud instead of staring off into space when he goes online. With his creation of Eyebook, that isn’t true anymore. Almost one trillion people use Eyebook, and at some point or other, they’ll be staring off into space when they turn on their EyeC.

Mark doesn’t need to cheat and look at what Eduardo is doing on Eyebook to know that he’s bored. Unlike a large population of the world, Eduardo doesn’t usually spend much time on EyeBook. Mark knows. He used to keep track.

A chat window pops up on Mark’s MultiPud, distracting him from his thoughts.

[](http://s1122.photobucket.com/albums/l523/j_nonny/?action=view&current=tsn_eyebook-1.png)

And fuck him, if that’s not actually a good point.

“What do you do in Singapore?” asks Mark all of a sudden.

Eduardo looks up with a jolt, flicking his Eyebook off. “Sorry, what was that?”

Mark repeats his question.

“I- Aren’t you working on Eyebook now?” Eduardo asks in confusion.

“No, I was just checking to see if the loading speed has increased, and I have some projects to approve. They’re not urgent,” Mark says with a shrug.

Eduardo looks taken aback and tentatively says, “I thought you would be wired in. Like you used to be.”

Mark places his MultiPud down on the couch for want of anything better to do. “I’ve been working on Eyebook for four years now. I know what’s urgent and what can wait.”

He doesn’t say it, but he also knows what it’s like to not have Eduardo around for most of those four years. Eyebook is his proudest, most amazing creation, but the past years have shown him that there are things he’ll want in his life other than Eyebook. Things that he misses, which is something he never really thought about until Eduardo becomes one of those things.

“That’s kind of amazing to hear,” says Eduardo, wide-eyed and sincere like Mark has just achieved world peace instead of just understanding priorities better now.

Mark raises his eyebrow. “Thanks, your approval’s appreciated.”

Eduardo actually smiles at the light-hearted barb, and Mark hadn’t realized until now that Eduardo’s amused acceptance of Mark’s sarcasm can still thrill him the same way as it used to.

“Always happy to contribute,” says Eduardo with faux-gravity. “To answer your question, I actually work with companies on products that can be used with Eyebook. A little strange, I know. I also help finance new tech ventures, and provide independent consultation.”

“That makes sense. You’re good with numbers, and have enough ground experience now to put that into making a start-up work,” points out Mark.

Eduardo holds his gaze with an unreadable look. “That’s…thanks, Mark. That’s good to hear from you.”

“I didn’t always express objective compliments, because I thought that your own strengths would be obvious to you. I didn’t fully realize how different it can be for humans,” says Mark, his way of acknowledging his own shortcomings in the past.

Eduardo nods with some hesitance. “In a way, I guess you were still learning a lot about how society works back then. I didn’t know things were so different for you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” remarks Mark. “But I’m not sure it matters. I don’t think time and experience has changed me very much.”

“Isn’t the point of ARTHIs to learn and change?” asks Eduardo, smiling.

“I’ve always been the stubborn one of all the ARTHIs.”

“I’m not surprised. You know, I inadvertently got involved in the ARTHI community in Singapore,” says Eduardo, in an almost absent way. “It’s strange how almost everything comes back to-”

Mark raises his eyebrows when Eduardo cuts himself off abruptly. “Comes back to?”

Eduardo shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not relevant. I was telling you what I did in Singapore, and one of the things I did was spend a lot of time with the ARTHI community.”

Mark frowns a little but accepts the direction change in the conversation. “How did that even start out? You never had a big interest in AIs, let alone ARTHI.”

“One of the start-ups I funded had an ARTHI working for them. Her name’s Jane, and she’s this really nice, funny girl. A little shy sometimes. Anyway, because I was new to Singapore, she offered to show me around some parts of the city. One of the things she took me to was an ARTHI society event,” Eduardo explains.

“They have events?” Mark asks, surprised.

“Well, usually they’re just gatherings where people, non-ARTHIs too, go out for dinner and chat. Singapore has a restricted quota on how many ARTHIs they allow in as residents a year, so they’re a close-knit group over there. I made a few friends from the event, and after a few months, I started helping newcomers settle in, find housing, that sort of thing.”

Mark frowns. “If this is a start to a long story on how your time with ARTHIs has given you insight to their workings, and how similar they are to humans, and how similar I am to them, and you’re going to give me a lecture on how we’re all just _people_ , can I ask you to save your breath?”

Eduardo looks amused, lips turned up a little. “I don’t think I could ever honestly say that you’re the same as most other people, ‘droid or not.”

Mark rolls that around in his head. “Oh. Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Take it as you will,” teases Eduardo. “But your diatribe actually has reminded me of something.”

Mark does not like this line of conversation, and it must show on his face, because Eduardo looks even more amused, that sadist.

He continues, “ARTHIs there differ from you, in many ways of course, but one of them is that they don’t really question that they can experience strong emotions. They might be less expressive about it, but they seem to accept that they’re designed to feel. Maybe it’s because you like to question things or go against the grain, but they don’t react like you do when they’re talking about their friends or loved ones. To them, they are what they are.”

Mark cuts in, “They are a construct of human-designed emotional and rational intelligence, originally created to better serve and communicate with human beings. The emotional aspect was considered necessary to empathize and work towards other individual human priorities, and the emotive aspect would allow humans to better communicate with and accept androids into their lives. We are what we are, but it doesn’t make our feelings anymore real or natural.”

Eduardo raises his hands in surrender. “I’m afraid we’re going to break our truce from earlier if we continue this conversation.”

“Then you shouldn’t have brought it up,” snaps Mark, before realizing that his words are too sharp, and ridiculous as well since he would much prefer if they moved on from this topic. He’s almost taken aback by his own vehemence about this subject he rarely talks about.

He expects Eduardo to get angry.

Instead, Eduardo just shrugs and leans back into the couch. “You’re right, I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Mark looks down, considering his words before saying, “I’ll consider what you said, but I appreciate a change of topic.”

“Okay, let’s talk about what you’ve been doing instead.”

Just like that, Eduardo is giving him an out. It’s familiar, the way Eduardo accepts his non-apologies, and just moves with it. Mark forgets how _easy_ things are with him sometimes, how well they fit together before they fell apart.

“Other than Eyebook you mean?” asks Mark, willing to go along.

“Please, I read enough about Eyebook in shareholder meetings and the news.”

“I still keep up with my fencing. I decided to pick up Mandarin the hard way, instead of just creating a language-translation software. Last year, I took up cooking, but it’s ridiculously expensive and time-consuming to do it for one person.”

“Cooking? Now this is something I’ve to see,” says Eduardo with some wonder.

“I’ll cook for you once I’ve stocked up. I make a good stirfry, I’m told.”

Eduardo smiles. “I would like that.”

Mark feels his lips turn up in familiar response. He thinks maybe they can do this after all, spend a week together like they’re close friends once more.

# # # # # # # # # #

They learn their way around each other again. Theirs is a slow and awkward orbit, drawn to circle each other, but repelled by the same force. Their chemistry and past friendship make it easy for Mark to take the next few days off, and cook for Eduardo, watch movies together, talk about current issues. But this shared history means they stumble when they meet a thorny subject, and they draw blood too easily with the unsettled friction between them.

Dustin and Chris coming over to visit make things easier and harder at the same time. It’s like they can’t resist the opportunity to be a foursome again, won’t miss out on the chance to talk as a group now that their missing number is back. By unspoken agreement, Dustin and Chris bring neither of their partners over, as if their short time now as a foursome is precious and cannot be shared. But it’s still obvious that Eduardo is not that close to them anymore, and from Dustin’s expression, this hurts him. Mark realizes, over and over again, endlessly it feels, that the disintegration of his friendship with Eduardo has made a casualty of the friendships between Dustin, Chris and Eduardo as well. Those might not be dead, but they’re limping along now, and Mark doesn’t know if they’ll ever fully recover again.

When the night before the meeting rolls up, Mark runs diagnostics to figure out why he feels simultaneously exhausted and content. He finds nothing, as he suspects he would, and he concludes that it’s due to external factors. The biggest external factor in his life right now is Eduardo. The constant edging around topics with Eduardo is grating, but at the same time, everything is just easier with Eduardo around.

It feels like it’s a trade off.

Seeing Dustin and Chris out, Eduardo turns around to face Mark. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow will be the same sized day as today,” says Mark with a straight face.

Eduardo shakes his head forlornly. “You used to be so much funnier, Mark. All that cutting wit, fading with old age. That’s just sad.”

“At least I was funny at some point of my life,” says Mark dryly.

He records and keeps Eduardo’s laughter, to be replayed for times when Eduardo isn’t around again.

# # # # # # # # # #

“Mark? Mark, wake up?”

His eyes snap open immediately, coming out of Sleep mode.

“Wha- Wardo? Are you okay?” he asks, processing speed slow as he sits up in confusion.

“I’m fine,” Eduardo whispers from the side of his bed.

Mark looks up and realizes how close Eduardo is standing, knees brushing the bed as Eduardo bends over a little awkwardly.

“Then what’s-”

“Can I?” Eduardo cuts him off, and he’s leaning closer, too close. “Can I have this? Can we just pretend for one night, so I can have this?”

He’s still whispering, and Mark stares with wide-eyed amazement as Eduardo leans down and kisses him. It’s a tentative kiss, gentle and uncertain.

Mark groans against those soft lips and opens his mouth to them. He licks into Eduardo’s mouth, hand coming up to clamp behind that long neck.

Fuck, this is what he wants. This is what he has wanted for so long, but he’s been trying to ignore it because what’s the point in wanting what is impossible, it’s useless.

Except here, it’s possible. Here, Eduardo is straddling Mark’s legs in bed as he ducks down his ridiculously long neck to kiss Mark back with a devastating passion. They slide their tongues against each others’, hands roaming with a desperate need to feel everything right now. They’re fully clothed, though, too busy making out and groping to pull away long enough to completely strip.

It’s only a few minutes before Eduardo pushes down Mark’s sweatpants just enough to pull out his cock. It’s obscene, the way his cock is sticking up hard and leaking from the waistband of his pants. But Eduardo doesn’t care, loves it from the way he’s moaning and jerking Mark off in a tight grip. In a matter of seconds, Mark has Eduardo’s cock in hand as well. He holds the two hard erections and rubs them together. Eduardo starts shivering and moaning in this amazing, guttural voice.

“Fuck me, Mark,” demands Eduardo, and Mark can’t think anymore.

He’s too turned on to concentrate, breathing hot against Eduardo’s neck as he feels his body tighten with pleasure. Everything is a haze of moving arms and hands, gasps as Mark finds some lubrication. He doesn’t remember how, but he has Eduardo slicked up, and Eduardo is sinking down onto his erection while Mark’s sweatpants is still mostly on.

It’s amazing, it’s too amazing, how tight and hot Eduardo is around Mark, the way he’s gasping and throwing his head back. Eduardo grinds down in a sinuous, circular motion, his hips rolling with a mind-blowing sensuality. Mark swears and grips that arched waist, digging his fingers into that smooth, soft back.

“Come on, Mark, fuck me, please,” moans Eduardo.

Mark spreads his legs wider for leverage and fucks up with sharp thrusts, moving into Eduardo’s body with a claiming, desperate force. He’s driven mad by the way Eduardo bounces on his lap, by the way his lips are parted and how he pulls at his own leaking erection in time to Mark’s thrusts. His circuitry is overheating, and his whole body is winding up with an ache of an imminent explosion.

“Mark, Mark, Mark,” cries Eduardo in a desperate litany, his movements speeding up in a clear sign of his approaching orgasm.

Mark keeps thrusting savagely, rubbing a thumb across the head of Eduardo’s weeping cock. “Yeah, come on, let me see you come.”

Eduardo opens his eyes wide, staring at Mark. “We could have had this.”

The sheets beneath him are damp when Mark’s eyes snap open.

It’s silent in his room. His erection throbs in his pants, pressing up against his hand wedged between his thighs. The temperature control keeps his room cool, but he’s covered in sweat, his skin sticking to his shirt and sheets uncomfortably.

Fuck.

Mark hasn’t dreamed of this in years. The dreams had petered out after Eduardo’s long absence in his life. A few days in Eduardo’s presence are enough to reverse all that repression.

Mark buries his face in his pillow, jerking off with gritted teeth. Sometimes, the humanoid body is unacceptably inconvenient.

Eduardo won’t be here for much longer. It’s illogical to be conditioned to his presence again. The inability to tweak his own base code was clearly a big oversight on Felicity’s part.

# # # # # # # # # #


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

>   
>  Mark will always remember that despite all the precautions they had taken, he was woefully unprepared for his first few close encounters with the general population.
> 
> He spent an exhaustive amount of time in the six months prior to Harvard interacting with his carers – scientists, he had to remember they’re not his carers anymore – and random humans in restaurants, gyms, fencing clubs, and other public places he was made to visit. As far as Felicity and Mark himself could judge, no one had been able to discern that he was anything other than human.
> 
> Tired of all the human interaction, his aim was to hole up in his room and catch up on all his neglected projects.
> 
> It was strange that he could make that an objective, when he would never have been allowed to behave that way in the past. While he was losing the core group of people who were his safety net in this world, Mark was also gaining real freedom.
> 
> The children from the Centre dispersed, making it harder to tie their origins together if anything should happen to expose one of them. The scientists disbanded as well. They had been working on this project on the side out of attachment to their subjects. Now that the androids embarked on their new lives in the real world, the scientists decided to keep contact to a minimum. It would give the androids the best chance of integration without discovery.
> 
> Selling parts of the Supercomputer and Mark’s highly accurate music-categorizing program had produced enough money to give all the androids new identities and a fresh start. Mark’s inclinations and abilities landed him in Harvard.
> 
> So he had realized that there was no one to fuss about his penchant to skip meals and sleep, and he had been free to do whatever he liked. But he had also been cut off from the mentors and cousins who knew him so well.
> 
> In some ways, he suspected that many of the new students at Harvard probably experienced the same contradictory excitement and discomfort as he did.
> 
> Mark had given himself the excuse that he would need some time observing the behavior of students in Harvard before he could make a stab at mingling. It seemed like a safe course of action. After all, Felicity had ingrained in him the importance of keeping his origins a secret for now. It had been less than a year since ARTHIs were granted civil rights in the US. There were still many groups of people who opposed the legislation.
> 
> Felicity carefully told him that some humans feared things they didn’t understand, or things they perceived as different to themselves. Sometimes, people did the same thing to each other, not just to androids.
> 
> Mark had remarked on the human ability to indiscriminately discriminate.
> 
> So his choice to remain secluded for awhile seemed smart. If it aligned with his preference to stay in and work on his own projects, then that had just been a happy coincidence.
> 
> Then he stepped into his assigned room.
> 
> “Hello, hello, new roomie! Or would suite-mate be more accurate?”
> 
> Based on the hue of the grinning boy’s hair, Mark labeled him as a ginger. He looked inexplicably excited to see Mark.
> 
> “I’m Dustin,” his roommate said after Mark stared at him in silence.
> 
> Mark put down his bag before introducing himself in a somewhat stilted manner, “I’m Mark.”
> 
> Dustin immediately slung an arm around Mark’s shoulders. “Awesome! We’re going to have a ball here. I hear there’s a party for all newcomers, and I happen to know where it is.”
> 
> Mark’s careful plans to keep to himself that semester were destroyed the moment he met Dustin.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

# # # # # # # # # #

Mark drives them to the meeting place Thiel had requested. Chris and Dustin had wanted to come along, but Mark vetoed that; he didn’t want to come off like he needed three people as back-up. In the passenger seat, Eduardo is sliding through the news items of the day. The car is on autodrive, so Mark doesn’t feel worried about keeping his eyes on Eduardo instead of the other cars and the road. He sees the article Eduardo has chosen to settle on is about the Humans First group, picketing outside yet another school that employs a teacher android. It’s not a large organization, but the people in it are zealous, like any other group that has set foot on planet Earth and thinks that their beliefs need to be forced down the throats of others.

When they get to the overpriced restaurant, Mark mentally calls up the Eyebook interface and connects to the network. He scans the room with the Eyebook interface overlaid, white frames lighting up faintly around the faces of the people there. All of them are on Eyebook, which is unsurprising. Most of the diners don’t have any relation to one another. He puts them on Eyebook’s Tree which maps any close and distant relation all users might have to each other, but no interesting connection between the diners and waiters is revealed.

The maitre d’ probably has EyeC turned on and has Eyebook’s facial recognition activated as well, because he recognizes Mark immediately and offers to take him to Thiel’s private room.

It doesn’t seem like a set-up, and there are no journalists in the restaurant. But Thiel should be smart enough to know to avoid using people detectable on Eyebook. Mark isn’t willing to relax just yet.

He follows Eduardo into the private room. Mark is wearing a sweater over dark jeans, his concession to the class of the restaurant. Eduardo on the other hand, cuts a very sleek figure in his black bespoke suit and perfectly styled hair. Regardless of presentation, Thiel greets them with a jovial friendliness, like he hasn’t stabbed one of them in the back and is probably planning to stab the other soon.

The conversation moves at an excruciatingly slow pace.

They make pointless small talk, mostly between Eduardo and Thiel. It turns out the restaurant belongs to Thiel, which is why he suggested the place, and they talk about some overlapping ventures and charities they’ve been involved in. It’s obvious that Thiel has his EyeC on as well, from the way he scans Eduardo at the start and then looks a little glazed as he reads up on him. Ah, the joys of Eyebook, where you can look up someone’s profile instantaneously and skip all the dreary chit-chat to catch up.

In any case, Mark doesn’t like the way he looks at Eduardo, but it doesn’t seem to affect Eduardo in any visible way.

It’s strange to think that Eduardo gets along fairly well with Thiel, the man who suggested the dilution when Sean brought up ‘their problematic CFO’. Mark has to call a truce just to keep the last week relatively amiable. For all that Mark is programmed to be human-like, there are some human logic which will allude him.

It’s not like Thiel is a very interesting, intelligent or attractive man. Why does he get a free pass? Business acumen aside, his intelligence is average, and his conversation is proving to be boring. His face is only 70.31% symmetrical, and he has an unattractive weak chin. Mark also finds his ‘hn, hn’ chuckles annoying. These are things he had never noted before, but he’s certainly noting them now. If he didn’t think Eduardo would get angry, he would show him this list later on.

To stifle the rising disturbance to his inner processing, Mark reviews code for a personal side project in his head, tweaking it as he nibbles at his food.

“You’re able to eat,” observes Thiel.

Mark shrugs, not feeling particularly generous towards Thiel at this moment. He ignores Eduardo’s wide eyes.

“Even though you’re an android.”

“I’ve been designed to digest and draw a small amount of energy from food, yes,” says Mark, bored.

Eduardo stiffens next to him.

“You’re not even trying to deny the latest rumors?” asks Thiel.

“What’s the point?” reasons Mark. “If you take this to court, an examination would reveal the truth.”

“True. Very reasonable, as to be expected from one of your nature. I suppose your agreeing to meet me has something to do with this,” says Thiel, taking the news with remarkable aplomb.

Perhaps Mark’s abrupt behavior has always lent Thiel a suspicion that he really was an android. He doesn’t correct Thiel about his nature though. His cousin, William, is- was incredibly emotional even by human standards, the most soppy and philosophical character Mark had ever the misfortune to know.

Eduardo cuts in, “You’re right, Peter, and we want to know if Mark’s origins will be a problem to you.”

Origins. That’s an interesting way to put it.

Pushing away his empty plate, Thiel says, “Mark has made Eyebook a company that’s been valued as 900 billion dollars this year. I like a CEO that makes me money.”

Eduardo obviously decides to go for bluntness. “So you have no intention of getting rid of Mark and taking over the company?”

“No, not at all. I’ve no intention of embroiling myself in a lawsuit that will last years with a high possibility of losing, when things are good as they are now.” Thiel looks amused.

“Why did you want to meet me?” Mark interjects.

“Curiosity. I wondered if the rumors were true,” says Thiel with an elegant shrug. “That confirmed, I’m now wondering if you were always able to do all the things Eyebook does.”

Mark considers the non-question. “I can use Eyebook without needing the EyeVisual lenses, because my processor can connect to any wireless connection to call up Eyebook. Before creating Eyebook, the only way I could perform the same functions would be to hack into a government database to get information and pictures of people, which is far too much work in comparison to the benefits.”

Thiel steeples his fingers. “Fascinating. So you basically created a tool that was already available to you, but that humans lacked.”

In a sense, that is true. Humans were at such a disadvantage before Eyebook really took off. Now, a user could search for someone using the face recognition function, as long as the other person is on Eyebook as well. When you’re meeting someone for the first time ever, or for the first time in a long while, Eyebook takes away the awkwardness of introductions or the need to try to recall their interests. With a flick of a thumb and with the information feeding straight to their eyes, the user can call up someone else’s profile, find out who their friends are, start a conversation based on all this knowledge.

“You don’t understand. Eyebook had to be created from scratch because if you haven’t noticed, humans aren’t robots. You aren’t able to take in information the way I do,” says Mark, not bothering to mince his words.

“Don’t worry, Mark, I’m not implying that you used your own program to create Eyebook. I have some understanding of ARTHIs, and it doesn’t work like that,” comments Thiel. “In a way, this will make it much harder for the Winklevosses to try to sue you again.”

Mark blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the Winklevosses sued you once for intellectual property theft, and they’ve been making noise that they want to sue again, because they weren’t given pertinent information in the first lawsuit, which resulted in them settling for less than they feel they’re entitled to,” explains Thiel.

Mark shrugs, his ‘tell me something I don’t know’ shrug.

Thiel continues, patient, “With this revelation, their first lawsuit has even less grounds to stand on. They claim you breached a verbal contract with them, and delayed their work so you could steal their idea. However, to a jury, it would seem more natural that you always had plans to launch this idea based on your own capabilities. Only an android could think, ‘why can’t a human do this?’ The fact that you would need to steal the idea from them would seem ridiculous.”

To this, Mark remains silent. While ridiculous, Mark had actually been inspired by the Winklevii’s idea. But his biggest crime would be that he dicked them around a bit. He had come up with an entirely different idea from the first one they had proposed to him. He had made it so much more than the Winklevii’s uninteresting dating website, where one would be alerted if the person present was single or not. How limited. Mark had no patience for humans who wanted to ride on the coattails of his success.

“That’s a good point, Peter,” says Eduardo, diplomatic as always. “Thank you for clearing the air and confirming your intentions.”

Thiel turns to him, considering. “I have to say, Eduardo, after our numerous encounters, I do believe you’re far more capable than I was led to believe initially. How did you reconcile with Mark?”

Eduardo shrugs. “Despite our history, we’ve known each other for a long time. It was inevitable.”

Avoidance. It’s interesting to Mark that even with their personal issues, Eduardo is trying to present a united front here. Mark doesn’t know why, but he wants to commit this moment to memory, to know that Eduardo still sees himself as part of something with Mark. If only Mark is able to decipher what that something is.

It’s rather anti-climatic from there on. Thiel says that they have his word that he will provide his support if any shareholders raise an issue about Mark’s origins – the word ‘origins’ looks like it’ll stick around for awhile yet – and Eduardo seems to believe him. Mark analyzes their entire conversation in 5.85 seconds and concludes that Thiel’s logic is sound, and there is no reason for him to take umbrage to the fact that Mark is an android. After a quiet moment of internal analysis, he acknowledges that he feels the android equivalent of ‘relieved’. This is his tentative attempt to try out Eduardo’s take on ARTHIs and feelings.

He wonders if it’s possible to convince Eduardo to stick around. Because Eduardo has been back for only a week, and Mark can already see that him leaving again will be painful and a loss.

He had predicted that Eduardo would be angry and emotional, that he would not want to talk to Mark much, and he would only be persuaded by logic and by appealing to his empathy. Mark had considered that Eduardo would react negatively to the news that Mark is an android, and would say something along the lines of ‘everything makes sense now, because Mark never really could pass as a human’. It would only be logical. But Eduardo has not said those words. This Eduardo doesn’t seem to be angry for the expected reasons, doesn’t seem to be reacting to the news in any understandable way.

A small percentage of his processing power is taking in the murmured pleasantries as they leave the private room. Outside the restaurant, Thiel shakes Mark’s hand before turning to Eduardo.

Mark is taking note of Eduardo’s perfunctory handshake, knows that Eduardo views Thiel as a businessman, a colleague, but not someone he likes, and Mark’s vision catches sight of a projectile that sails from the streets at them. He turns, focuses, sight zooming in on the object in nanoseconds, breaking down the details picked up by his sensors into a list that unfolds in his mind:

**A sphere  
  -  Approx. 4 inches in diameter  
  -  Red light flashing  
  -  Unidentifiable  
High possibility of danger  
Impact in 1.1 seconds**

Mark shoves Eduardo and Thiel inside the restaurant again, pushing hard so that they stumble several steps in, and slams the door shut. The protection is inadequate, so he pushes them to the ground as the door explodes behind him.

He crashes on top of Thiel, eyes looking up immediately to see that Eduardo has fallen further into the restaurant. His hearing sensors go offline from the loud, shattering explosion, accompanied by a forceful shockwave that flattens him and Thiel into the ground. Pain receptors flare up, and he realizes that his body has been damaged, just as his vision flickers. Something hard has impacted against him, he can’t tell where, his sensors returning rubbish results. It’s all silent, nothing in view but the back of Thiel’s head. Then he’s moving, why is he moving?

Eduardo fills his whitening vision. Wide eyes, paleness, frantic moving lips, has Eduardo been hurt, he has to find out, he has to-

**SYSTEM OFFLINE**

**...**

 

 

**Alpha system compromised**

**Initializing Beta...**

**Systems check...**

**Beta initialized**

**Shell status check  
  -  Shell compromised  
  -  Outer damage to head **

**Alpha complete shut down**

**Call sos_repair**

**-  Shut down peripherals  
  -  End fluid supply  
  -  Call Return_Central  
        o  Initialize vision  
        o  Face-recognition...  
                §  Subject 1: Peter Thiel  
                     ·  Eyebook Investor, Category Public  
                §  Subject 2: Eduardo Saverin == Wardo  
                     ·  Best friend, Category Control  
        o  Initiate dialogue **

# # # # # # # # # #

**\+ + + + + + + + + +**

“I need to go home, Wardo.”

Eduardo gasps when Mark’s eyes focus, and he starts talking.

“Oh thank God, you’re alive,” he murmurs, gripping Mark’s shoulder too tightly. “Fuck, Mark, you scared me. Your head…fuck, your head-”

He chokes on the words, can’t continue through the well of horror bubbling up in him. When he had leapt up after the explosion, he could hardly spare a look at the smoking hole that is the door they had just been standing at. All he had eyes for was Mark, who was lying still on Peter. Pieces of metal from the door and wall were scattered about, debris from the explosion. Eduardo had barely noticed the screams and moans of the other patrons in the restaurant. The back of Mark’s head had been bleeding through his mess of curls; he didn’t even know Mark had so much blood to bleed.

In a panic, he had turned him over, moved him off Peter. Mark’s blue eyes, usually so sharp and quick, had been blank. There had been nothing in them, just empty globes. They looked like the eyes of a dead person.

Eduardo had freaked out. He can’t have Mark dead, he can’t, it doesn’t matter if they’ve hated each other longer than they’ve known each other, Mark needs to be alive, and he can’t, he can’t cope if Mark is dead, he won’t-

He had started shouting at Mark, and squeezing his face and shoulders like that would wake him up. The steadying hand on him from Peter had been ignored. He can’t remember what exactly happened in those few minutes, but it’s all receding now in the face of Mark waking up.

“Wardo, help me home,” says Mark.

The way he says it is causing alarm bells to go off in Eduardo’s head.

Peter distracts him for the moment. “Eduardo, his neck-”

Eduardo’s eyes snap down to his neck, and he starts swearing under his breath. Something must have cut his neck as well. It had been bleeding out unnoticed in the last few minutes, but the blood flow seems to have stopped. Eduardo feels sick, because it looks like a deep wound. He would question Mark’s sanity at this point, because this really looks like gaping human flesh with shredded skin and glistening insides, except among the blood and muscle, there are countless tiny, gleaming squares. He can also see a mass of interconnecting fine, silver wires, only visible when the bright ceiling lights hit them from an angle.

Looking up, Eduardo realizes that he’s not the only one who has noticed. There’s a woman on the floor near them, her face pale and eyes wide as she stares at Mark’s exposed circuitry. The secret is out.

“Are you hurt elsewhere?” Eduardo asks Mark.

There is a pause, and Mark says, “Negative.”

Right, something is definitely fucking wrong here.

“We should go,” says Eduardo, looking at Peter. “Can you handle this? Someone would have called the cops, and we need to go back and get Mark looked at first. If we stick around, we’re going to get dragged to the station.”

Peter nods. “I’ll try to delay them getting a statement from you. What do you want me to say about Mark?”

“Nothing yet. Don’t explain, we’ll talk to them ourselves,” says Eduardo with a grimace.

He’s not willing to make decisions for Mark just yet.

“Let’s go, Mark,” says Eduardo, pushing to his feet and trying to pull Mark with him.

Mark moves with uncharacteristic slowness. The blow to the head might be affecting him.

“You’re my human Control. I can go with you,” says Mark in that frightening, toneless voice.

Eduardo’s flesh prickles in a chill.

“Mark, you saved my life,” says Peter, voice wondering.

Eduardo starts moving Mark towards the gaping mess that’s the doorway. “Just remember that when the shit hits the fan, Peter.”

Pausing at the doorway, Eduardo looks around to see if whoever attacked them is still around. He doubts it. Such an attack attracts too much attention, and the attacker would be stupid to linger afterwards. It does show that whoever wants them dead doesn’t care that they’re going to get news coverage on this.

There are people moving towards the damaged restaurant, curious about the explosion. Eduardo takes off his jacket and puts it over Mark’s head, tells him to hold it under the chin to cover his exposed wound. Mark is strangely compliant.

People are probably going to recognize Eduardo, but the less photos there are of Mark bleeding, with visible android parts, the better.

They scuttle quickly towards their car, keeping their heads ducked the entire time. Inside the car, Eduardo sets the vehicle to autodrive, with the destination set to Mark’s house. He calls Chris and Dustin, tells them to get to Mark’s house as soon as possible, his voice shaky and enough to stop them from asking questions for now.

Finally, Eduardo turns to Mark. He still has Eduardo’s jacket over his head, holding it together at his neck obediently. Eduardo lets out an unexpected laugh at the sight. If it’s a little strangled and hysterical, he thinks the minor loss of control is at least justified. He reaches out and removes the jacket, meeting no resistance.

“Are you okay, Mark?” he asks, remembering the strange behavior earlier.

Pale eyes turn to him. “Help me home, Wardo.”

It’s only now that he has the time to really observe Mark. He had heard people describe Mark’s speech as flat. But the words coming out from Mark’s lips now capture the true meaning of the word. There is no inflection at all in his speech. Eduardo is suddenly seized by fresh panic.

“What’s going on?” asks Eduardo, feeling his hands start to shake in fear.

“You’re Control. You can help me home,” says Mark, not making any sense.

Eduardo lets out a shaky breath. “As- As whatever I am, this Control, can you tell me what’s going on with you?”

There’s a moment of silence, and without a change from the blank expression, Mark talks. “Alpha has shut down for repair. Damage to main processor. Beta program initialized. Beta has launched emergency repair. Objective is to return to Central for repair.”

Fuck. Fuck, where’s Mark?

“Is Mark, Alpha able to restart after repair? Will this affect Mark?” asks Eduardo.

“Unknown. Full diagnostics required after repair.”

Eduardo bites his lower lip and sinks into the chair. What if this has damaged Mark’s mind, or memory drives, or whatever it’s called? What if Mark is repaired, but he’s no longer _Mark_? This must be what dying feels like, Eduardo thinks. He hasn’t talked to Mark for years, has been angry with him for those years, but the idea of him being gone makes him feel short of breath, like he’s been punched in the gut. The idea that a thing that looks like Mark and talks like Mark might awaken after this, but isn’t Mark, is enough to make squeeze his eyes shut in horrified fear.

**\+ + + + + + + + + +**

There’s nothing Eduardo needs to do once they’ve reached Mark’s home. Mark walks under his own power, upright and moving straight for what he wants. His movements are still the same at least, that strange, determined gait of his. He unlocks the doors with his keys, his password, his palm recognition, all on autopilot. Then he heads for his bedroom, with Eduardo trailing behind him. Eduardo watches as Mark lifts a section of the carpet and presses his palm to the floor. It shifts and opens to reveal a safe, which Mark keys his password into and leans over for an eye-scan. He opens the safe and pulls out one of the many boxes.

Mark sits down on the floor with the box on his lap.

“Do you need my help?” asks Eduardo.

“Negative. Self-repair will commence now,” explains Mark, pausing briefly. “Communications will be offline for a period of two hours.”

Then Mark opens the box, which contains a seemingly solid gray block. He places a finger on the block, and Eduardo gapes a little as the box begins to disintegrate, and a stream of tiny, nearly too small to see, _things_ flow up Mark’s finger towards his neck and head.

Nanobots. The most advanced version Eduardo has ever seen. Even the ones used on humans require direction from the controllers. Mark must have some way of sending commands to them, or they don’t require instruction.

Fuck. He’s completely out of his depths.

Eduardo slumps down onto the bed. Chris and Dustin will be there soon, and he’ll have to explain everything that just happened. Not that he really knows what just happened. He waits with a roiling stomach, thoughts a jumbled, painful mess. All he can think is that Mark has to come back to them, the Mark who infuriates Eduardo, who knows Eduardo, who has tried his best in the past week to uphold the truce despite the awkwardness and occasional unhappy slip ups from Eduardo. He wants _Mark_ back, nothing else. Burying his face in his hands, Eduardo takes a deep breath and hopes with all his aching, pounding heart.

**\+ + + + + + + + + +**

# # # # # # # # # #

**  
Alpha standby  
**

** Initializing diagnostics check... **

** 100% complete **

** Primary systems reboot **

** Initializing Alpha... **

Mark opens his eyes. He sits there quietly for a moment, disconcertingly uncertain of what just happened and how he got here. He’s home, he knows, and he tries to connect with his home wireless. Before he can, he realizes he has unusual access to his secondary memory, something that shouldn’t be in his direct reach. It’s Beta’s memory.

So Beta, his secondary system, had initialized. He must have been damaged. He accesses the memory, and runs through the events that happened while he had been shut down. A report about the damage and the fixes contains all the information he needs.

Then he accesses the stored video capture. It’s strange because he hasn’t shut down completely since Ejection Day. He watches Eduardo’s part in this, catalogues his expressions as fear, horror, anxiety, helplessness, panic. He wants to reach out to touch him, even though he knows it’s just a memory. There’s the impulse to take away these negativity even though it’s impossible, and Mark thinks that he hasn’t experienced this glitch in awhile. It always occurs when Eduardo is around though, he remembers.

After he has reviewed all that has happened, the Beta memory is locked down again from his reach. It doesn’t matter; it has transferred successfully to his Primary storage. He gets up while reaching a hand behind his head, feeling for the head injury. It has been completely sealed up by the nanobots.

“Mark,” whispers Eduardo.

Mark turns around to see Eduardo standing by his bed, eyes wide. Chris and Dustin are just getting up from the bed, and are watching him with similar expressions of anxiety.

“I’m fine,” Mark says. “The damage to the back of my head and my neck were superficial.”

Eduardo stares. “If it was superficial, why did you- you _disappeared_. There was a program, something else took over for you.”

Mark explains, “The impact jarred my processor strongly. It exceeded safety thresholds, and as part of my safety protocols, I shut down to prevent memory corruption. My secondary system, Beta, performs the most basic of functions, and its main aim in situations like this is to return home for repairs and a diagnostic check.”

“That doesn’t sound superficial at all.”

Mark shrugs. “It’s just a precaution. I hope you realize that I’m not so flimsy as to break apart at the first head impact. That would be poor manufacturing, Wardo.”

“Just, shut up alright? I had to deal with this, this distant, computer program thing, and I didn’t know if you were ever coming back,” says Eduardo, face still looking a little pale.

Eduardo has always been a good friend, he can recall from memory. Even though Eduardo hates him now, he still worries about him.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t serious damage. I was just in shutdown while Beta was running,” starts Mark.

Dustin jumps in, “Is that like your version of sleeping?”

Trust Dustin to be curious about the technical aspects. “No, my version of sleeping is my sleep mode. My processor sometimes simulates dreaming, though I’ve never been sure why that’s necessary, or if the programmers planned to include it originally.”

“What happens in shutdown?” asks Dustin.

“Nothing. There’s nothing,” Mark says, trying to push down the disturbance in processing as he says this.

He catches Eduardo shuddering visibly. Chris squeezes Eduardo’s shoulder, and Mark tries to run simulations on how to further comfort Eduardo like what Chris just did, without being pushy. Before he can get far, Dustin is pouncing on Mark, dragging him close to give him a tight hug. Mark makes a face and tries to pull away, but Dustin is hard to move. Chris comes over and hugs him too, even though they both know he dislikes being hugged. They really should know better.

Once he’s released, he finds Eduardo hovering nearby as well. For a moment, it feels like he’s stuck in a disastrous infinite loop, because he feels frozen in place, and he can’t seem to connect to his legs and arms. Is Eduardo going to hug him too?

Then Eduardo touches his neck with two fingers, the exact spot where he had a gaping hole of an injury earlier.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” says Eduardo, voice low and a little rough.

He pulls away abruptly, like he just realized what he was doing. Chris and Dustin are watching like this is the best show they’ve ever seen in their lives. Feeling inexplicably put out, Mark shrugs and walks by them.

“I’m glad you’re alright too,” he says as he goes, heading for the staircase.

They congregate in the kitchen, Chris inhaling a slice of cold pizza because he had apparently skipped lunch, and all the rushing around makes him hungry. Dustin begins to pick the mushrooms off the pizza and popping them into his mouth, as is his wont to do. With Eduardo there with them, nudging Dustin to leave the mushrooms alone, it almost feels like they’re back in Harvard and nothing has changed.

It’s this thought which propels Mark away from the counter and towards the fridge, rummaging around for a can of Red Bull.

“Does that even do anything for you?” asks Dustin, always curious.

Mark shrugs. “I like the taste.”

“Wait, wait, so do you really piss or do you fake it?” asks Dustin in surprise.

Sighing, Mark replies, “I do. My body is designed to be as close to human as possible after all.”

He wants to derail this inane line of conversation, so he connects to his home network. He turns on the wall-TV that usually functions as a glass divider between the kitchen and the dining room.

Chris jumps a little when the TV snaps on, not expecting it. On the other hand, Eduardo just turns around and asks, “Can you turn to the news?”

A little bit grumpy to be treated as a glorified remote control now, Mark switches from a documentary on the transport evolution, to CNN.

A slightly blurry picture of himself fills the screen.

Shit.

He’s lying on the floor of the restaurant, staring blankly at the ceiling, and half of Eduardo’s body crouching over him is visible as well. The reporter goes on to talk about the startling result of an explosion in a restaurant, exposing Mark Zuckerberg as the rumored android of Silicon Valley.

Fucking shit.

“Oh fuck,” swears Chris, quickly choking down the rest of his pizza. “I need to do damage control.”

He scrambles off his stool and heads for the sink to wash his hands.

Dustin mutters, “Man, no wonder Wardo was so freaked out. You look terrible here, Mark.”

Mark eyes his own picture as objectively as possible. “Other than the blood and the neck damage, I look the same as always.”

“You look kinda dead,” Dustin says bluntly.

Eduardo looks pained at this line of discussion, and stares with open horror at the picture of Mark that fades away to show a picture of the damaged restaurant. The restaurant had been fancy enough to use hard metal and synthetic polymer for their walls and doors, though they were designed to look like rustic brick and wood that were more common centuries ago. The door had bore the brunt of the explosion, and it had been completely annihilated, with a large chunk of the wall blown apart as well. There was an abundance of debris and dust everywhere.

If they had still been standing outside, they would have never survived the explosion.

Mark decides to talk about something else that has been weighing on his mind. “The bombing doesn’t make any sense.”

Leaning against the counter, Chris has his back to them as he talks in a low tone to the PR department about the statement they have to release. It’s really nice of Chris to handle this, considering that he’s not really the PR head of Eyebook anymore. He’s an external consultant now, ever since he went off to start his own charity network. Mark makes a note to buy him something nice. Maybe a pair of leather shoes, those are expensive.

“Why do you say that?” asks Dustin. “Doesn’t it fit your theory that Strider is trying to destroy all the androids to hide the evidence of what happened?”

Mark nods. “It fits with them trying to destroy us, but it doesn’t make sense if they’re trying to keep the public from finding out. And it’s too desperate. Why would the company do this so publicly?”

Eduardo frowns, leans forward over the kitchen counter. “I think going into hiding isn’t going to be enough. We need to stop them.”

A simple word such as ‘we’ shouldn’t make Mark’s processing stutter for a microsecond. It’s ridiculous but he wants to nod immediately, to agree, because then it would mean there’s a ‘we’.

“I could threaten to take down the company if they don’t stop. It should be easy enough if I infect their servers with a latent virus. For a technology company, they could lose all their research, and I could hold all of it for ransom.”

Dustin chimes in, “I’m sure we can find access through one less secure port and break our way in-”

“I was hoping for something less dramatic than that,” says Eduardo, making a face.

“And more legal,” says Chris, turning around as he turns off the earphone. “You should go to the police.”

Eduardo snaps his fingers. “Shit, that’s right, we need to give our statements. I told Peter to delay them as long as possible, and that we would go in to the station.”

Chris nods. “Yes, that too. But Mark should also file a police report against the bomber. He needs official and legal protection now.”

It’s a good point, but Mark isn’t sure how useful the cops are in a situation like this. Historically, a lot of people still see ARTHIs as less than human despite the rights granted to them. Cops have been known to put the safety of androids after humans’.

“That’s a good idea,” says Eduardo. “We should go now before the police comes looking for us instead.”

Well, there’s no changing their minds now if both Eduardo and Chris have the same purpose in mind. Dustin shrugs while smiling at him, as if to say ‘Just go with it, man, it’ll be easier for all of us.’ Sighing, Mark gets up, draining his Red Bull.

“Alright, let’s go.”

# # # # # # # # # #

Giving his statement and lodging a police report takes four hours altogether. It really shouldn’t be so tedious a task. Mark devotes 20% of his attention during that time to the idea of creating a system that streamlines the entire process so that it should only take less than half the normal time. A tailored software would probably be needed to make it work, and Mark makes a note to look into this. It could be his way of giving back to the community, while making a lot of money from it.

When Mark finally comes back home, the jittery speed of his processing calms down. Eduardo had kept him company just because he had to give his witness statement as well, and Mark finds some comfort in his presence. He prefers to keep Eduardo close at all times. He tells himself it’s so that he knows Eduardo can’t be taken as collateral against him. It’s for Eduardo’s own safety. Right.

Eduardo has been unusually quiet during the trip back. He’s unusually quiet during dinner, which he pecks at. Mark eats with him, just to provide company. Usually, he doesn’t bother with social norms, but for Eduardo, he’s always tried to make an exception. It’s not like he has much opportunity to observe Eduardo in any case. When they’re done and have cleared away the leftovers, Eduardo waits in the living room with an expectant face. Mark knows that face. He can recall it from his memory, and match it to all the times that face precedes a Talk. Mark does not like that face.

“I don’t like that face,” he says as much.

Eduardo makes a different type of face, brows all scrunched up. “I’m sorry for my face?”

Mark explains, “There’s nothing wrong with your face; it’s in the top percentile of attractively symmetrical faces I’ve seen, and your eyes are unusually large in a pleasing way. But this specific expression usually means you want to talk about something serious.”

“Um, thanks,” Eduardo looks taken aback. “And you’re right, I would like to talk.”

“About what?” asks Mark warily, for good reason he believes.

“About what happened between us,” says Eduardo.

Mark remains standing, not looking at Eduardo anymore. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

He hears an angry inhalation from Eduardo. “Alright. Let’s talk about what Beta said instead. Why am I your Control?”

Looks like Eduardo has learned. Instead of engaging, he just plows forward from a different angle. In a way, Mark has to respect that, even though he hates this topic even more.

Control is the person Mark trusts most to assist and direct Beta when Alpha is in shutdown. Only Chris and Dustin have similar permissions with Beta, and even then, they are at a lower level of authority than Eduardo. In some ways, Mark understands the need to keep Eduardo as the most trusted person in his own base logic. Even if Eduardo never finds out about his role as Control, Mark’s highest trust rightfully belongs to him, like it always should have.

“I don’t want to talk about that either.”

Eduardo glares. “I think after everything I’ve done this week without questions, I’m owed at least an answer to _something_. So either we talk about Control or we talk about what happened four years ago.”

Mark would prefer the past than to explain why Eduardo is the most trusted person in his programming, but it doesn’t mean he has to approach it happily. “You were there too, you can’t have forgotten the joy that was the depositions.”

“That was my take on things. I kept waiting for you to interrupt to explain _why_ you did it, why you screwed me out of your company when I was your closest friend, and I thought we had-” Eduardo cuts himself off with a snap of his jaw. “So tell me now. Tell me now, because Mark- Because I want to understand.”

It’s the pleading tone that ends his prickly offense as a method of defense. When Eduardo is angry, Mark has always felt the need to push back. But he can’t push back against Eduardo’s hurt. Eduardo’s pleading and sad voice will always be the end of his defense.

“You weren’t right for the company. You almost ended it all,” says Mark, falling back on an argument that had played on loop back in those days and feeling his core temperature rise.

He starts a background diagnostics, something is wrong with his construct _again_.

Eduardo’s lips are pinched, unhappy. “I was acting out in a way, throwing a childish tantrum, and I was too inexperienced to understand the business model that Eyebook needed. I apologized, and I did what you wanted after I unfroze those accounts, and I thought we were okay. You always had majority control, not me, and you could have _talked_ to me. How could I have ended everything?”

How could he? Mark doesn’t know now. It’s not like Eduardo had been a completely irrational mad man who couldn’t be reasoned with. Mark recognizes now that they had both said the exact wrong things to each other towards the end. If they had sat down and really talked…

His memories of that time are filled with incomplete calculations, Sean’s voice talking about how Eduardo wasn’t there and didn’t care. He had needed Eduardo there, because it was easier to focus with Eduardo around. When Mark had those big eyes and encouraging smile in sight, he could interpret clearly that Eduardo was satisfied or unhappy, supportive or fed up. Without Eduardo around, all he had was a list of ‘why Eduardo didn’t fit and didn’t understand’ from Sean, and they were facts, reasonable arguments. He couldn’t argue with them, and to disregard them would be illogical.

Mark hadn’t known how to counter this. He doesn’t know how to be illogical, even though at that time, it felt wrong to go with logic. He had listened to the code and tried to ignore the uncertainty his system had been churning out, like little ‘warning’ flags beating their red flashing lines against his eyes after he compiles a solid block of code. They were warnings, not errors. Warnings just note a potential problem, not a true error, so they can be ignored most of the time.

But sometimes, ignoring the warning flags can result in a catastrophe.

“Eyebook was everything to me, and I thought, I didn’t understand why you couldn’t see that. Sean had the contracts drawn and we were talking- If you caught the loophole, if you realized it was a bad contract, it would prove something…” Mark struggles unusually with words and finally lapses into simplistic code talk. “If Wardo signs, outcome equals Wardo isn’t the right CFO. Else outcome equals Wardo is the right CFO.”

The explanation is weak, and Mark knows this. He’s had years to realize that. He doesn’t want to look at Eduardo and see the realization that Mark is a fucked up robot.

Mark shakes his head. “It wasn’t right. The logic was there, but it was lacking all the important considerations, and I wasn’t making the right assumptions. After you froze the account, I was running under compromised conditions for a long time, and I should have stopped, recalibrated. But I didn’t, and I went ahead with the decision anyway.”

“Damn,” murmurs Eduardo.

Finally, Mark looks at him. Eduardo’s brows are drawn, his shoulders drooped. Sad. Eduardo is sad. It makes Mark burn, makes his insides twist even though there’s no logical reason for them to do so.

Eduardo sighs. “You acted while angry, and Sean appealed to your logic. And I failed your test.”

Without his command, Mark is stepping closer, says in his fast pace, “No. No, the test was rigged, and I didn’t realize that, or didn’t want to realize that in my, my anger. You signed because you thought the lawyers had your interests in mind. You signed because you _trusted_ me. You trusted me, because I was your best friend. Best friends don’t do what I did to you, and I didn’t take that into account. I only realized when you got so angry in return, when you left and didn’t come back.”

Eduardo opens his eyes, stares at him with a sad, dark gaze. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this? You could have- At any time, if you had contacted me afterwards, before my lawsuit-”

“Because I didn’t think I could fix it.” The answer is immediate. “Because all my projections and calculations couldn’t result in a return to our friendship. But if you sued me, at least you could get back what was yours. The shares were yours, like how the fourth name on the masthead should have been yours.”

Eduardo stares at him for awhile, in surprise. There’s something opening in his gaze, something that Mark can’t qualify but can recall, and it makes Mark want to lean just that little bit, 5.56 inches, closer.

“Mark, you crazy asshole, I would have dropped it all. It was hell having to build a strong lawsuit and say all those fucked up things, and- Fuck, why didn’t you just apologize?” asks Eduardo incredulously.

“Apologizing is the first step in asking for forgiveness. I didn’t see how you could forgive me,” says Mark, matter-of-fact, though his eyes dip down again.

He looks back up when Eduardo squeezes his shoulder. When did he step so close?

“I forgive you, Mark,” says Eduardo, voice shaky but sincere.

Mark stares, mouth open, but no words are forthcoming. He closes it and swallows, an utterly pointless and human reaction.

“Why?”

Illogical. An illogical question, because it might result in Eduardo changing his mind on further contemplation, and that is an unacceptable end result.

Eduardo shakes his head. “I almost lost you today, and we would have still been- Still broken. All I ever wanted to know was that I meant something as a friend to you, and that you felt some regret over it, and it wasn’t something you just brushed off at the end of the day. Maybe that’s pathetic of me, to want to know that you missed me as a friend-”

“Wardo, I did.” His voice tremors, the instruction from processor to speaker going in bursts of broken data amidst the flood of churning responses he thinks. “I regretted and I missed you, and I wanted you back, but I didn’t know how, I couldn’t come up with a scenario with a high success rate to which you would have forgiven me and want to be friends-”

Eduardo smiles, tremulous, a picture burnt into the back of Mark’s lenses. “But here we are. Forgiven. And I hope, friends again.”

It feels like nothing is working, like most of his body has gone offline, and there’s only white noise in his mind as he tries to understand how they’ve come to this point. Is this luck? Is that what they mean by luck? A fortunate chance that Eduardo could be here as a friend again?

“You’ve always been a statistical anomaly among humans,” he manages finally, mouth feeling numb, the words stumbling out in blocks and pieces.

“Back at you,” says Eduardo with a quirk of his lips.

Then Eduardo is pulling him forward, and they’re hugging, for the first time in years. Mark who hates hugs loves this one, is filled with so much relief. He curls his arms around Eduardo, and buries his face in that long neck, and thinks “Wardo,Wardo.”

It _feels_ right.

# # # # # # # # # #

They sit together on the couch, only a hairsbreadth apart, as if a few more centimeters of distance would mean that they would lose this tenuous reconnection. They’ve been talking for an hour, Eduardo fetching a glass of wine at some point. Mark’s throat is far better designed to withstand heavy usage of course, and alcohol has no effect on him.

Their easier conversation to catch each other up on their lives – without all the avoidance of the earlier week – come a full circle back to their recent reconciliation.

“I was trying to stay angry at you, when the truth is that I’ve missed you more than I’ve been angry,” says Eduardo quietly. “I was angry at myself as well, because I made such stupid mistakes, and I was so stupidly stubborn. But when I saw you again, it’s like all that old anger came boiling back out, and I didn’t even give you a chance.”

Mark shakes his head. “I didn’t even know there might have been a chance, I didn’t even try.”

Eduardo looks at him with a wry smile. “We’re really fucked up, aren’t we?”

“Considering that you’re here, willing to forgive the robot who screwed over our friendship, and you want to try again, I think you’re the more fucked up one, Wardo.”

He immediately wonders if it’s too soon. Why does he ever think he’s funny?

But Eduardo leans back with a fond smile that carries no hint of hurt. “But you still like me anyway.”

“Yes, I do,” says Mark simply, a statement.

Eduardo blinks, long and slow. Mark thinks that maybe this is how Eduardo looks when he’s pleased. His eyes lower to the glass he rolls between his hands.

“I like you too, you know,” Eduardo murmurs, cheeks flushing a little.

“That’s good to know, and very reminiscent of being a teenager again for some reason,” Mark says before he can stop himself.

This seems to jolt Eduardo out of whatever strange mood he’s in. He rubs the back of his neck, and looks significantly embarrassed for some reason.

“I should probably go to bed now,” he says, standing up and still holding that glass.

Mark wants to say something, tell him that he doesn’t have to go yet, that they can keep talking. He wants to rollback his words and have Eduardo looking at him from beneath his thick lashes again. What had Eduardo been about to say?

But Mark only nods, his speech processor not advanced enough to say all that he wants to.

“Good night, Wardo,” he says softly.

Eduardo smiles at him. “Night, Mark.”

# # # # # # # # # #


	3. Part 3 and Epilogue

**Part 3**

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

>   
>  It surprises Mark to remember how sociable he was in Harvard. Completely against his will, of course.
> 
> Dustin dragged Mark to a few parties early on during their first semester. Mark went because he was curious about social interactions at parties, and because Dustin would bring the party back to their dorm room if he didn’t go.
> 
> There was one particular ‘apartment-warming’ party they went to, which had what seemed like 100 people packed into a two bedroom apartment. Dustin managed to get the number of a cute girl he liked, by way of friendly smiles and bad jokes, so he considered that night to be a success. Mark was introduced to around 20 new people that night, in a whirlwind of faces, names, and terrible flirting.
> 
> None of them had given him their numbers.
> 
> That was the night Mark had met Eduardo Saverin. He was briefly notable, because he was very well-dressed. Not that he was wearing a tie and a suit to a party, but it was obvious that his close-fitting pants and shirt were designer labels, and his hair was perfectly coiffed. It had been a two-minute introduction and brief conversation, before Eduardo was dragged off to dance with a friend.
> 
> It hadn’t been a memorable meeting.
> 
> A couple weeks later, there was a knock on the door as Mark was putting together code for course matching and the arrangement of study groups, club meetings and compatibility with office hours.
> 
> Dustin opened the door to a familiar figure.
> 
> “Whassup?” Dustin was going through a ‘street’ phase at that time. “Aaah, the shining star of my Econs class, who thinks he can write a better algorithm than Master Moskovitz. It’s the ‘Algorithm Off’ challenge tonight!”
> 
> Eduardo looked amused. “I don’t know if I can call it a challenge based on your work I’ve seen, Dustin.”
> 
> Dustin acted suitably offended, and there was a lot of squabbling at that remark which Mark had ignored. It was intriguing. A probably rich, certainly good-looking guy didn’t seem likely to be a Maths geek who would visit someone like Dustin to participate in something as dorky as an algorithm-writing challenge.
> 
> He was curious that there was someone Dustin thought of as intelligent, because Dustin is very clever in his own way, though Mark doesn’t like to say so. Dustin is the sort of person who had fucked the bell curve in his Economics major with his high scores, while working on his own personal programming projects for fun.
> 
> Mark was interrupted from his reverie by an outstretched hand. “I’m Eduardo.”
> 
> “I know. I remember.”
> 
> “Cool. It’s Mark, right?”
> 
> The wide, pleased grin paired with large dark eyes, crinkling at the edges, is a snapshot stored forever in his mind. He can’t remember one of their first roommates’ names, before the guy had been kicked out for cheating. He can’t remember exactly when Chris had moved in. He can’t recall why Jessica cried at work just last week. But he remembers this. He remembers the warmth of Eduardo’s hand in his own, the amused, low chuckle when Mark questioned his need to wear a suit when visiting someone like Dustin. He remembers the pleased smile when Mark had called his Maths ‘adequate’, and the way he had shrugged off what Dustin called ‘Mark’s acid tongue’ with a laugh.
> 
> There are some memories Mark doesn’t retain, and he doesn’t know how his base logic decides which to keep and which to lose. He doesn’t have every second of Eduardo’s moments with him.
> 
> But he has most of them.  
> 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

# # # # # # # # # #

Mark always tries to avoid making press releases, or being interviewed. That’s what having a Public Relations team is for, in his opinion. But in this case, even he can’t avoid the pressing need to release an official statement. Worse yet, it has to be from him. Stocks for Eyebook have dropped by 4% as news of Mark’s robotic origins spread like a virus in an unprotected system. He needs to address this fast, and despite his good will right now, Peter has hinted the same too.

Chris spends all night setting up a short press conference, and he makes Mark sit down for an hour in the morning to write his speech. Mark is sure that writing speeches falls under his PR team’s responsibilities as well, but he relents on this one, because he never feels comfortable reading out their speeches.

After some discussion, they’ve decided not to touch on the legalities of his existence. His team of lawyers has been working on it since he called them on the way to the police station, and they’ve concluded that his existence is legal and protected under ARTHI Rights. Creation of bots was banned in the US once they realized the full extent of the ARTHI sentience, but with the rights granted, no ARTHI in existence can be harmed. The creators of ARTHIs could be charged, but most of Mark’s scientists have dispersed to places outside the government’s reach, which was a smart move on their half.

Despite the airtight certainty of his safety in the eyes of the law, making a speech on all that to the whole world is pointless. The masses aren’t interested in the legalities. What people need to see now is the human side of Mark. He needs to be someone they can empathize with, so as to accept him as one of them. At least, that’s what Chris and Eduardo tell him. Dustin had just said that as long as Mark doesn’t go up there and be all Mark-like, they should be fine. Ever helpful.

Mark restrains from pointing out that as the creator of Eyebook and the second youngest billionaire in the world, he’s hardly one of the sheep. Even if he’s human, he’s not remotely close to being ‘one of them’. But he knows this won’t come across well, so he buckles down and writes his damn speech.

It’s a difficult speech to write, because he has so much to cover. He researches by scanning through famous speeches, and speech-writing ebooks. He doesn’t find them very useful, because nothing really covers ‘I’m an android but I’m just like you, and someone is trying to murder me so I hope the police catch them.’ That’s a lot for an introductory speech.

He chucks the speech advices and does the best he can. He goes with sentiment – an unfamiliar subject for him – and decides that they can release a statement later with more details about his origins.

By the time he looks out at the reporters facing him eagerly, he still doesn’t feel very prepared. They’re standing in the lobby of Eyebook’s newest headquarters, large enough to easily accommodate all the press. Normally, news concerning Mark or Eyebook only garners interest from the tech media. But a story about a successful billionaire being an andoid, that’s breaking news for all the mainstream press as well.

Staring out at them, Mark snaps a photo of the shifting crowd through his eyes and uploads it to his Eyebook. He adds the caption, “In shark-infested waters, I hope I’m not bleeding.”

He wishes, for a brief, pointless moment, that he can change his base code so that he dislikes public speaking a little less.

Mark takes a short breath. “Good morning. For those who don’t follow tech news and are wondering why my face is on your media device of choice, my name is Mark Zuckerberg. I’m one of the founders of Eyebook, yes, _that_ Eyebook. And I’m an android.”

He pauses, slightly taken aback at the deathly silence that falls through the crowd. Even his security guards at the entrance are watching him instead of the crowd, which is kind of slack, he thinks.

“Who’s surprised?” His raised eyebrow garners a few smiles and chuckles out of the crowd, but most everyone just watches with an expectant air. Alright then.

“I have always been an android. I’ve not kidnapped and replaced the real Mark Zuckerberg, which is logical if you think about it, because there are better targets out there in the world than someone who works nine to nine, has no social life, and still isn’t the ruler of a rich country.”

He sees Chris wince from the front row, and he quickly swerves back into his original speech. “My position as CEO of Eyebook does not signify the start of world domination by androids. If you know anything about ARTHIs, you’ll know that we aren’t built to be smarter or better than humans. I might be a lot more knowledgeable than the majority of people my age, but that’s because I don’t spend most of my time glued to the wall-TV watching porn. Don’t invalidate the hard work of all the people who have worked at Eyebook. I’m the CEO of a company last valued at 900 billion dollars, because I had the opportunity to work with a handful of brilliant people, a number that has grown to hundreds, and now thousands, as we continue to build and expand Eyebook.”

He takes a short breath, and releases it in a sharp exhalation. “I’m an android, and I was designed in the likeness of the human form and thinking. I have the same opportunities and weaknesses as everyone else. If you cut me, I’ll bleed. I have never been able to shoot lasers from my eyes, or turn my body into a weapon unless you put a gun in my hand.

With the barest of pauses, he recites the rest in his flat, matter-of-fact voice. “I will age. I will die. I can be killed.

“I have kept my origins a secret not out of shame, but out of respect for the small number of ARTHIs created with me, and the scientists who gave us a chance to experience life. Yesterday, that choice was taken from me when someone tried to kill me. Several other people were injured when an explosive was thrown at us. Two of my ARTHI cousins are missing, presumably dead, because someone out there has decided that my kind cannot exist anymore, and that we should be exterminated.”

Mark meets the eyes of the people facing him, daring them to think of his existence as lesser to theirs.

“Perhaps some people will say that you can’t kill what isn’t alive. Growing up, I’ve struggled with that idea as well. I still don’t know the right answer.

“But I can tell you that I have a job, friends, interests, dislikes, beliefs, hopes. I would say I contain multitudes, but I hate Walt Whitman. I sleep in on Sundays, I’m impatient with manual drivers, I swear at the TV when Dustin beats me at Galaxy Warfare, but that’s only because he cheats just so you know.”

He looks at the crowd, holds their attention. “I can’t tell you if I’m alive, but I can tell you that this, the last twenty-four years, it feels like living.”

He stops. Everyone looks a little wide-eyed, the silence so all-encompassing that he thinks he can hear the ticking of his own Core. Then he catches sight of Eduardo, standing to the side of the crowd. He isn’t supposed to be here. He hasn’t yet been identified in the news reports, so it makes sense for him to keep out of sight and out of potential danger. Of course, Eduardo has always been impetuous.

Smiling, Eduardo flashes him a thumbs up.

What an idiot. Mark smiles a little.

“And I want to keep living. _We_ want to keep living,” he says, almost sighs, before shaking his head and firming his voice. “I hope this answers some of your questions, and that you’ll realize that I want only the best for-”

There’s a flash, somewhere to Eduardo’s left, and Mark only sees it because he’s still somewhat angled towards Eduardo. It triggers his responses to danger.

** High heat **

**   -  Laser-plasma identified. **

** Trajectory: Alpha as target **

** Impact in **

Mark ducks before the calculation completes. He smells the singe of burnt hair as the plasma beam slices far too close to him.

“Mark, get down!” It’s Eduardo’s voice, panicked.

He rolls to the floor, sensing the second shot pass over him. People start screaming, which is a useless human response.

The next shot goes completely wide, hitting the unmanned receptionist desk to no effect. Mark looks up.

Eduardo is grappling with the shooter at the edge of the crowd, hand gripping at the man’s wrist and struggling to get the weapon. Mark’s body feels frozen with terror, lists immediately scrolling through his vision.

** Eduardo Saverin **

**   -  Healthy male  
  -  Untrained **

** Suspect unknown **

**   -  Physical status unknown  
  -  Category: Danger **

He doesn’t finish his calculations on Eduardo’s exposure to danger. Mark’s body moves on its own, scrambling to his feet, and bounding over to Eduardo. But he sees Eduardo punching the other man, a strong close-fisted lunge, and they both drop out of view behind the crowd. Mark estimates that the man must have dragged Eduardo down when he fell. He pushes people out of the way, skirting around the panicked and running journalists. He shoves through, Core pounding and blood rushing, to see three other people pulling the attacker off Eduardo.

And Eduardo is bleeding.

The scene embeds in his memory, every byte burning through his eyes and wiring and Core. Eduardo holds the laser-plasma gun in one hand, but the hilt of a weapon – probably a knife – protrudes out of his stomach. His hand presses beside the wound in surprise, trembling. Eduardo looks so pale, almost gray.

Mark falls to his knees, short of breath even though it was a short run. He doesn’t know why his body is malfunctioning, losing control, as his processes stutter and loop redundantly.

“Wardo,” he gasps, hands fluttering around the wound.

He hears voices behind him, shouting, someone screaming, “He shouldn’t have, he shouldn’t have tried to stop, I didn’t mean to-”

But Mark doesn’t care about that, is filtering all of it out as white noise.

Eduardo grimaces, looks up at Mark as he puts down the laser-plasma gun.

“Who the fuck uses knives anymore, hey?” he tries to joke, voice shaky.

“Idiots. Who the fuck struggles with idiots for plasma guns, Wardo?” asks Mark, squeezing Eduardo’s hand uselessly.

He doesn’t know enough about human physiology, but he’s seen the movies where pulling out the knife kills the victim. He knows better. He’s seen the movies. Fuck, he’s trying to keep Eduardo alive based on what he’s watched in movies, what the fuck.

He does an online search in less than 1 second. Fucking hell, there’s not much he can do for a stab wound to the stomach. He follows what instructions he can get, moving Eduardo’s legs so that they’re bent at the knees before pressing his hands around the knife to try to stem the bleeding. In his electronic brain, Mark overlays an anatomy diagram, with internal organs, over Eduardo’s body as seen through his eyes. Then, he switches to his x-ray view, just enough to see past clothes and skin to the body underneath. From the neatly labeled anatomy diagram over a black and white capture of Eduardo’s body with the knife through it, Mark identifies that Eduardo has been stabbed through the liver.

He scans through the dangers of a liver injury. Minor injuries to the liver result in virtually no deaths. But there are frightening, indecipherable words for major injuries, words like ruptured intraparenchymal hematoma, parenchymal disruption, juxtahepatic venous injury.

At its worst, the mortality rate is 75%.

That’s far too high when Eduardo is involved.

He devotes 40% of his processing to connecting to the hospital to report the stab, and locating the nearest patrolling ambulance to hijack if necessary.

“Mark, don’t worry,” Eduardo tries as he presses his hand around Mark’s. “Fuck, can you not- not so hard? That kinda hurts.”

“We have to stop the bleeding. You need to stop bleeding, Wardo, please,” Mark whispers.

“Right. Let me get on that. Immediately,” says Eduardo through bared teeth, a grimace of a smile.

“Don’t die. Please don’t die, you can’t, I just, please-”

His systems are breaking down. Everything is breaking down. He can’t, he doesn’t know how to handle this. His processing is overloaded, just an endless stream of rubbish information, and his visual is degrading as he speaks.

“Mark…” Eduardo says in wonderment, which is strange, why would he sound like that when he’s been _stabbed in the stomach_? “Mark, you’re crying.”

That’s impossible. He’s never cried before. He has wondered if he could cry in this body, he didn’t get an opportunity to ask before everyone disbanded and left, but he’s never cried before, so he thought he couldn’t-

He realizes that it’s moisture blurring his eyesight, that those are tears trickling down his cheeks. He wants to wipe his tears away so that he can clearly see Eduardo again, but he can’t. His hands are needed to press against the wound, and his hands, his hands are covered in Eduardo’s blood, slippery with the dark red oozing out.

“Wardo, you asshole, you made me cry,” he whispers. “You can’t go, okay? I need you here. I need _you_.”

Through his tears, he thinks he sees Eduardo smiles. “I’m here for you, Mark.”

Illogical as it is, the world seems to stop for them.

Eduardo is here for him. Eduardo doesn’t lie about this.

His divided focus informs him that the ambulance is here, that it didn’t require his interference because someone had called the hospital immediately, and so he only jumps a little when hands fold around his shoulder to pull him away. He doesn’t let himself be moved far, barely notices Chris’ panicked gasping, “Oh my god, oh my god, _Wardo_ ,” by his side.

“I’m coming in the ambulance,” Mark says, his voice brooking no argument.

No one protests.

Mark grips Eduardo’s hand all the way to the hospital.

# # # # # # # # # #

They give Eduardo painkillers in the ambulance, and his white knuckled grip on Mark’s hand loosens. This doesn’t comfort Mark in the slightest.

At the hospital, Mark isn’t allowed to follow Eduardo into the emergency room, because he would just be in the way according to the doctors.

“Is he going to be alright?” he asks, like every desperate line in some TV show.

Every nurse and doctor he poses the question to just tell him that they’re working on it, that he should take a seat, that they need to get back to the patient immediately please. Mark is frantic, and no one is telling him _anything_. He knows he shouldn’t, because he’ll end up remembering this for the rest of his existence, but he hacks into the hospital cameras. Every room has one in this day and age, and while he sits in the waiting room, his eyes watches through the emergency room camera.

It’s terrible. He feels ill. He didn’t know he could feel ill before this. There’s so much _blood_. He hadn’t known a person, Eduardo, could survive with so much blood outside their body. He has a machine hooked up to him – for blood transfusion, Mark’s cross reference of pictures on the internet tells him – and his face looks completely pale with his lips a bloodless shade. The doctor has a hand _in_ Eduardo’s stomach, doing something, Mark has no idea what. He can’t bear to look too closely, to see them handle Eduardo’s insides so easily. They’re talking about a damaged liver and heavy bleeding. They say potential for bleed out, and for a moment, Mark isn’t able to process these words, like they’re in an unknown, foreign language.

By the time Mark can focus again, they’ve poured the nanobots into Eduardo’s wounds, because nanobots can work faster under the doctor’s instructions than the doctor doing the same work by hand. Mark wants to go down to that level, see from the nanobots’ viewpoint every shunt they put in place, every laceration they fix, every stitch they put in, every vein they replace. But he doesn’t, because he’s afraid he’ll interfere with the work, and it’s paramount that there’s no interference. The most important thing is that Eduardo needs to be better. He needs to _live_.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to Dustin’s horrified face.

“Oh thank God, I thought you went into catatonic shock, and I wasn’t sure if slapping you would work,” says Dustin, relief clear in his voice.

“No, I was, I was watching-” he can’t say more. Literally, his throat feels like he will never be able to say the words.

But Dustin understands, immediately starts nodding. “Ah, you hacked into their cameras. Is he going to be alright?”

Mark shakes his head, before nodding, and then just saying, “No, I don’t know. They don’t know either. They’re fixing, they’re trying to fix him.”

Dustin looks scared and small, eyes wide against his pale face. “Fuck. This is such- Fucking shit.”

He slumps down in the chair next to Mark, pressing close shoulder-to-shoulder.

For once, Mark appreciates the human contact.

He sits there, goes back to watching in the operating theatre as Dustin calls Chris to give him an update.

# # # # # # # # # #

It takes four hours, which is a long time for all the high end technology being employed here. Mark keeps Dustin updated, narrating any major action going on in the emergency room. Dustin in turn, relays the updates to Chris via text messages. Apparently, Chris is back at Eyebook doing damage control. He’s releasing general updates about the situation, getting rid of the press, and calming down Eyebook employees.

Mark tells Dustin they’ve taken a small part of Eduardo’s liver to grow him a new one, because it has been badly damaged, and he’ll recover quicker with a complete replacement. They decide to do the replacement during this same surgery instead of scheduling a later one, to reduce the shock to his body. There’s no need to consult anyone, because Eduardo has an ORN – Organ Replacement if Necessary – which is smart, very smart of Eduardo. Mark doesn’t think it’s good to have to call up Eduardo’s family to rely on such important decisions. Eduardo’s family doesn’t always have his best interest in mind.

But Mark doesn’t have a good record of that either, does he? He files away the painful thought for a later date. He has only so much anger and hurt he can work through today.

He tells Dustin when they debride devitalized liver tissue while waiting for the new liver to be force-grown to a substantial enough size. He tells him when the nanobots stop the hemorrhage.

At one point, Dustin cries. Not full out sobbing, but just quiet sniffs as he tries to wipe away his tears and stay unnoticed. It triggers the urge in Mark to do the same, like his body wants this outlet for his stress and fear now that it knows the method is available. But he won’t because he has to keep watching, he has to be aware of what’s happening to Eduardo. He closes his eyes and forces the burn away. Then he leans harder against Dustin and fumbles for his hand, squeezing it in brief support. He wants to do more, but he needs to concentrate on Eduardo now.

He stops telling Dustin everything that’s going on in the Emergency Room.

Only when the liver has been replaced, and the final stitch to close up Eduardo’s abdomen has been tied up, does he finally announce that it’s done. Dustin sags in relief.

Eduardo’s still alive.

# # # # # # # # # #

He knows he shouldn’t, but he does it anyway. This seems to be the theme of the day. He hacks into the hospital records, and adds himself and Dustin to the list of people allowed to visit while Eduardo’s unconscious. Just for now. Just until Eduardo gets better, and then Mark will take their names off the list.

For now, it gains him access to Eduardo’s room. It’s not like there’s much he can do with that access, since Eduardo is still unconscious. He’ll remain unconscious for another three hours or so. Eduardo’s under strong pain medication, so he’s bound to be somewhat incoherent when he wakes up.

Despite the pointless waiting, Mark sits beside Eduardo’s bed and holds his hand. Dustin waits with him, but he gets up occasionally to get them coffee and sandwiches.

Mark watches every breath Eduardo takes, takes note of every flutter of thick, black lashes against the sweet curve of his cheeks. He still looks too pale against his dark hair and the white hospital sheets, but he’s still the best thing Mark has ever seen.

Mark’s mind is just a whir of ‘Wardo’ with no other information being processed. It’s like someone hit pause, and he’s not able to start up again until Eduardo wakes up.

So he’s taken completely by surprise when the Saverins arrive after hour two.

“What are you doing here?”

Mark looks up. He takes in Mr. Saverin’s reddening face, Mrs. Saverin’s gasp of surprise, and he gets up smoothly from the chair. He hasn’t moved for two hours, but he’s an android. His joints are designed to be ready to move after prolonged stillness.

“Mr. and Mrs. Saverin,” he greets. “Wardo’s fine. He’s been out of operation for two hours now, and they’ve replaced his liver with a fully grown, new one. Chances of an infection or rejection are negligibly slim with the preventatives they’ve put into him, but regardless, the monitor will immediately alert the doctors if any begins. At this stage, he has a ninety-two point seven-nine percent chance of a full recovery within one week. He will regain full consciousness in approximately one hour based on the effects of the general anesthetic used.”

The words seem to take the wind out of Mr. Saverin’s sails. They both look taken aback by the sudden outpouring of information, but Eduardo’s mother presses her lips together and straightens up. She hurries to Eduardo’s side, and touches Eduardo’s face with gentle hands that shake just the slightest bit. Taking her lead, Eduardo’s father walks in with a much more careful stride, eyes set on his son. He seems to sag a little when he comes to his side, staring at Eduardo’s wan face. He doesn’t touch his son, just stands there with his hands clenched.

After a few minutes, he turns away from Eduardo, and Mark can pinpoint the moment when he decides to channel his anger and fear for his son’s life at Mark instead.

“You bastard, what have you gotten my son involved in now? Why was he at that press conference, when he hasn’t been back to Eyebook for years?”

Mark debates how much he should say, but settles for the truth, “We’ve reconciled our differences recently. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but he must have come to provide moral support.”

“Moral support? What does a soulless robot like you need moral support for?” sneers Eduardo’s father. “You’re just a _machine_ and you’ve conned my son into this mess again. I will not stand by and let you lie and cheat him again.”

“Oh shit,” swears Dustin from behind Mark, obviously just coming into the room from his last toilet break. Mark doesn’t turn around to look at him.

“Wardo’s an intelligent, capable adult, who can make his own decisions,” says Mark, discontentment stirring in his functions at the idea that this man is trying to destroy his budding, renewal of friendship with Eduardo.

“He’s too soft! His decisions concerning you have never been good. Look at what you’ve done to repay him so far. You’ve only brought him hurt, and now this, a _stab wound_ ,” says Mr. Saverin, gesturing at the room almost violently.

Mark snaps, “I didn’t stab him. I didn’t want him to be stabbed, some crazy asshole did it. Do you think _you_ ’ve never hurt your son, Mr. Saverin?”

“What the hell-”

Mark talks over him, “In the name of making him stronger and a supposedly better businessman, you’ve cut him down and decimated his self-esteem so often, that he has issues a mile long related to his need to please you. You tell him he’s a disappointment, and you cut him off when he needs your support. If I’ve hurt him in the past, then you’ve only rubbed salt in his wounds afterwards. In a tally of who has hurt Wardo, you and I are in the running for number one.”

Eduardo’s father stares at him, familiar dark eyes wide with unfamiliar anger and contempt. “You question my parenting? What right do you have?”

“A right as his friend,” Mark says sharply, before taking a deep breath. “Wardo is open, and too generous compared to the both of us. But if he’s going to let me back in his life, I’m not going to be so easily pushed away because you say so. I’m not going to hurt him again.”

Mark’s eyes flicker to Eduardo. “I’m never going to hurt him again.”

There’s a moment of silence that Dustin breaks, “I think we all need to calm down. Fighting in a hospital, where Eduardo might subconsciously hear us, won’t do any good for anyone, especially Eduardo.”

Mr. Saverin looks at him instead. “And who are _you_?”

Dustin meets him head on, utilizing the social skills he’s gained in the years he’s been CTO of Eyebook. “I’m Dustin Moskovitz. I used to go to Harvard with Wardo, and we’re friends.”

The answer doesn’t please Eduardo’s dad. “Another bloodsucker who is dragging my son into this again!”

“That is enough, Mauricio,” Mrs. Saverin interjects, sounding tired. “They’re his friends, and if Eduardo will be happier to see them when he wakes, then they should stay.”

“We don’t know that,” says Mr. Saverin through gritted teeth.

“We are here to support him and make sure he gets better. Not control his life,” she says sharply, an echo of an old argument.

Mr. Saverin subsides, turning to look at his son again. Mark wonders if he imagines the regret he sees in Mr. Saverin’s face.

It doesn’t look much different from the regret Mark sees in the mirror sometimes.

# # # # # # # # # #

It’s awkward with all of them waiting in the same room, but Mark refuses to leave. At least Mr. Saverin’s anger seems to have dissipated. He just seems _old_ now, sitting by Eduardo’s bedside and looking tired. They must have flown here immediately to see Eduardo once they heard of the news. Mrs. Saverin seems tired as well, but she smiles at Dustin when he offers her coffee, and eyes Mark speculatively when she thinks he isn’t looking. He wonders what Eduardo tells her about him. Probably nothing good before the last week.

Less than an hour after they arrive, Eduardo stirs. His parents hover immediately, watching him slowly awakening. Mark wants to move closer and stare as well, wants to observe every second of Eduardo waking up, but he knows his intrusion won’t be appreciated. That he’s still in the room is enough for now.

Eduardo’s first words are garbled, made before he opens his eyes. When he finally focuses his hazy gaze on the hovering faces, he looks surprised.

“Mãe? Pai?” he whispers.

“Oh Eduardo,” his mother murmurs, stroking his hair back. “You’re alright. You’ll be alright.”

His father starts talking immediately after her, “You foolish child. You’ve given us a heartattack, filho.”

Eduardo blinks slowly, remaining silent. Then suddenly, his eyes widen, and he looks panicked, trying to turn his head with little success.

“Mark, where’s Mark,” he croaks, trying to say more.

“Wardo,” says Mark quickly, stepping forward from where he was waiting in the corner. “I’m here, Wardo. I’m fine. You- You saved my life.”

“Mark, you- alright…” Eduardo is barely able to whisper, the look of relief on his face a bittersweet taste to Mark.

Dustin speaks up now, “You’re hurting your throat, Wardo.”

He was standing by the table, and he steps forward now with a glass of water and a straw, offering them to Mrs. Saverin. She takes it with a distracted ‘thank you’, and helps Eduardo drink through the straw, cautioning him to take little sips. He moves his head slowly, still looking groggy.

When he’s done, he looks up with a smile. “Hey, Dustin. You’re here.”

Dustin grins at him, like they’re not all standing around in a hospital room. “Yeah, man, of course I am. Chris would be too, but he’s stuck getting cleaners- he’s stuck with babysitting duty.”

Mark notes the backtrack, thinks of the pool of blood on the lobby of Eyebook, and wonders if it’s too soon to build a new headquarters somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Eduardo lying on the ground, bleeding out.

“Poor Chris,” manages Eduardo. “Wha- Mãe. Mãe, don’t cry, I’m alright.”

His mother quickly wipes away a few escaping tears. “I know you are, of course you are. You’re strong.”

“When the doctor agrees, we’ll transport you to Florida, the best hospitals and higher security,” says Mr. Saverin, voice commanding.

Eduardo purses his lips. “I’m sorry, Pai. I- I can’t go yet. I need to be here.”

His father looks angry. “Why? All these people here have ever done were hurt you and-”

“Mauricio, enough,” Mrs. Saverin says, low but firm. “Now is not the time.”

Mr. Saverin closes his mouth and subsides. He looks frustrated, but he listens to his wife on this one.

Eduardo’s mom does most of the talking after that, just saying soft and soothing words to Eduardo in Portuguese, not requiring much of his input. He seems comforted by her voice, his lips turned up a little as he answers occasionally in a slow, labored manner.

Dustin makes faces at Mark that he can’t interpret. He understands it’s a signal for the two of them to leave when Dustin just huffs in frustration and starts dragging him out. Mark doesn’t really want to go, not when Eduardo has just woken up, but he bows to Dustin’s social knowledge on this occasion. Why do they need privacy? It’s not like Mark was saying anything anyway. And it’s not like he can’t hack into the hospital cameras to monitor Eduardo.

He doesn’t, but only because Dustin tells him not to.

Chris arrives while they’re waiting outside Eduardo’s room. He comes with nice-Sean – his fiancé, not fucked-up-Sean of the Parker variety. Apparently, the reality of what happened had finally hit, and Chris had been too shaken up to even find his car keys, so nice-Sean had gone to get him. Mark doesn’t know the details, but nice-Sean seems to know Eduardo personally too.

Seeing nice-Sean must have reminded Dustin of Haley, his girlfriend, so he steps aside to give her a call. Meanwhile, Mark gives Chris the rundown of Eduardo’s surgery and details of his future recovery. He leaves out the more detailed parts of the surgery, knowing from Dustin’s reaction that it won’t be received well.

“Fuck, I can’t believe-” Chris bites his lip. “Wardo could have died.”

“His chances were good once we got him to the hospital,” Mark says, a little sharply, like that will make it truer if he says it quicker and strongly enough.

Nice-Sean just looks at him sympathetically before hugging Chris with one arm. Chris takes a few shuddering breaths against him, before he pulls away. He looks more composed, though the faintest trembling of his lips gives away his unhappiness.

“Sorry, it’s been hard trying to keep it together all day,” says Chris, voice sounding bone-tired.

Mark shakes his head, a quick jerky motion. “No. It’s been…hard. For all of us.”

Chris eyes him for a moment before nodding. Then he tells him about the damage control he has done for Eyebook, what happened after they left. His voice steadies as he talks, but he doesn’t let go of nice-Sean’s hand for a long while. Mark just nods and half-listens, taking in the information to be processed later. For now, his mind is still churning through ‘Wardo’s alive, Wardo’s alive’.

Eduardo’s parents come out after another half an hour, which is really too long. Mr. Saverin just stalks on by, but Eduardo’s mom pauses to say, “He wants to see you.”

She’s talking to Mark, and only Mark. She stares at him with penetrating dark eyes for a moment, before saying with heavy emphasis, “Don’t hurt him again.”

It’s a command, not a request.

Then, she’s walking away.

Mark doesn’t need it. The problem is that he never means to hurt Eduardo, but that happens anyway, again and again.

He’s going to try harder after this. He’s going to try so fucking hard.

Chris squeezes his shoulder, and he notes it in passing, before he walks into Eduardo’s room.

He thinks Eduardo still looks too pale, a #E1BCA7 instead of the #E79C8C he should be under this lighting.

“Mark,” Eduardo whispers.

He doesn’t want Eduardo to strain his voice so he pulls his chair as close to the bed as possible. After a second of thought, he reaches out and holds Eduardo’s hand as well. Friends can hold hands after a near-death experience, right? Even if it isn’t the norm, Mark doesn’t care. It should be if it isn’t. He feels comforted by the weight of Eduardo’s clammy hand in his. He brings up his other hand to rub Eduardo’s briskly, trying to warm it up.

“Are you cold? I’ll turn up the heat in the room.” He needs only to hack into the room’s temperature control.

Eduardo shakes his head a little. “Hospitals set their rooms at a certain temperature for a reason. Don’t mess around with it, Mark.”

That’s true. He should have thought that. He might have caused more complications to Eduardo’s condition by fucking around with things he didn’t understand. It would have been his fault if Eduardo was further hurt.

“I’m sorry, I should have thought of that,” he says, a rush of words exploding out to silence his thoughts.

Eduardo just tries for a smile, his lips looking so pale and dry. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

Mark keeps talking, unable to help himself, “I should have thought about the dangers of a press conference too. Someone was willing to try to blow me up in public; a press conference was a perfect opportunity to try again. I should have taken the necessary precaution, made sure you didn’t come, that was careless and unacceptable-”

“As I recall, you told me not to come, but I did it anyway,” says Eduardo. “I’m glad I did. You could have died.”

Mark feels a squeeze in his chest at those ridiculous words coming out of Eduardo, big worried eyes and all, while he’s _lying in a hospital bed_. “I’m not the one who just had an emergency liver replacement, and I didn’t almost _bleed to death_ five point three hours ago.”

Eduardo looks a little taken aback. “They replaced my liver? Wow, that’s pretty, yeah, that’s pretty major. I suppose that means I have a whole new liver to strain with all kinds of alcohol, hey?”

Again, with Eduardo’s strange humor, when now is not the time for jokes. “That’s not funny at all, Wardo. I think you should leave the jokes to people not confined to a hospital bed.”

“Tough audience,” murmurs Eduardo, smiling when that wins the barest curve of Mark’s lips.

Mark runs a thumb over Eduardo’s knuckles, looking at his hand as he speaks. “Don’t do that again.”

“Make bad jokes?” But Eduardo’s hand stiffens, so he knows where this is going.

“Get stabbed. Get in between a mad man and someone else. You could have _died_ , Wardo,” Mark says, hoping Eduardo will understand the gravity of this.

Eduardo could have died, and then there would be no more Eduardo in this world. It was an unbearable thought, one that throws up ‘Cannot compute’ errors everywhere.

The hand in his grips him back, and Eduardo says in a determined tone, “That someone else I saved, that was you. I would do it every time, even if it means-”

“No,” he cuts him off harshly, meeting Eduardo’s dark, passionate eyes again. “No, it’s not worth it. You shouldn’t risk your life for mine.”

“Would you do it for me?” Eduardo asks abruptly.

“Yes, but that’s different-” says Mark impatiently.

Eduardo starts coughing suddenly, and Mark quickly picks up the plastic cup with the straw. He holds it to Eduardo’s lips, waits for him to sip the cool water before it’s gestured away.

The moment Eduardo can speak, he demands, “How is that different? Just because you’re an android? You know that’s bullshit.”

That’s not it at all, but Mark doesn’t know how to explain it. For all his eloquence and rapid-fire speech, he doesn’t know how to put into words how it was like for him when he saw Eduardo grappling with that attacker. He doesn’t know how to explain the devastation Eduardo being hurt has on Mark’s base code, can’t begin to describe the way Eduardo has slipped into every line of Mark’s programming and cannot be deleted, moved, replaced. How is he supposed to summarize the reams of videos, images, and words he has stored in him, which all centers around Eduardo? How is he supposed to explain that as long as he can hold these pieces of Eduardo in him, and know that Eduardo is out there somewhere safe, _living_ , then Mark can continue existing with some measure of peace?

“I can’t have you gone,” Mark just says, unable to go further.

Eduardo folds his hands together and sighs. “And you think I would be fine with _you_ gone?”

It’s not the same though. Eduardo might not be fine with Mark gone, because Eduardo is Eduardo, is too compassionate and caring. But Eduardo wouldn’t be devastated like Mark, because he isn’t flawed like Mark. His programming isn’t so fucked up that logic doesn’t work, that he’s imprinted on a friend on the most intrinsic levels.

Mark’s silence must answer his question, because Eduardo looks tired now, is staring at Mark with unreadable depths in his eyes. “You’re wrong, Mark. You don’t know, you don’t understand how it’d affect me.”

Eduardo sighs again, fingers twitching in a sign of nerves, and then he continues talking, “This isn’t how I ever imagined bringing this up, and I was hoping, well, for more time. When we get to know each other better again, strengthen our friendship and all that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with our friendship,” interjects Mark.

Because there isn’t.

Is there?

Eduardo smiles. “I like to take things slow. But you know, I think I have an excuse here, I’ve just had a near-death experience. So, okay, I’m just going to tell you.”

He pauses, and Mark’s every sensor sharpens to almost excruciating detail, his wiring thrumming with sudden urgency.

Eduardo says in a quiet, but sure, voice, “I love you, Mark.”

Mark blinks. “Like a friend.”

“No, more than,” says Eduardo, looking a little shaky again, but with a stubborn set to his jaw. “I’ve felt this way since we were in Harvard, and even though I tried to change over the years, I’ve done a pretty bad job at stopping my feelings. Just thinking about how I could be gone, without telling you, it just feels wrong. So I have to- I need you to know that I’m in love with you. I have for a long time.”

Love.

Eduardo is in love with Mark.

Eduardo is _in love_ with Mark.

Is this how it’s like, to have someone love you? Eduardo loves him, and Eduardo would risk his life to save him. Eduardo loves him despite everything that happened between them, his feelings unchanged even though he has tried to leave them behind. Mark knows a little about that.

He knows because…

Because…

The silence spooks Eduardo a little, and he starts talking again, “I didn’t know how you would feel about it, so I didn’t say anything. I know every android, every _human_ , is different, so I wasn’t sure if you would want to hear it. But sometimes, I thought you might, maybe- Well. Feel the same. For me.”

Now Eduardo’s cheeks look a little flushed, embarrassment sinking in.

He thought Mark might feel the same.

Mark might be in love with Eduardo too.

Oh.

Is that what this is, Mark wonders.

Would love explain the all-encompassing way Eduardo affects his thought processing, his imitation blood, and his physical construct? Mark knows what it’s like to love friends, and he knows what it’s like to be attracted to someone or be in a relationship. But Eduardo has always been in a category of his own, the one who is always on a different priority level, who Mark always expected more from, whose very existence messes up Mark’s logic, and makes Mark act out badly or generously.

He’s always thought that he just liked to watch Eduardo, that he remembers so many things about him because it’s just Eduardo. Eduardo is just interesting. He’s objectively aesthetically pleasing, and he’s brilliant, and he’s funny, and he _gets_ Mark, and they fit together so well, so it makes sense that Mark remembers every moment, likes to play them out again sometimes.

Love.

Mark meets Eduardo’s now anxious eyes.

Eduardo says, “I’ve broken you.”

Mark shakes his head. “I’ve told you before that I’m not so easily breakable.”

“Okay. That’s good,” says Eduardo, pressing his lips together as if to stop himself from talking anymore.

Mark gets up and sits on the bed instead, watching Eduardo the whole time, seeing his eyes widen.

“Wardo, I don’t know if I can love.” He reads the dejection in Eduardo’s lips pulling down, so he quickly continues. “I don’t know if I can love because I have no internal data to use as a control case.

“But based on the empirical data of how I cannot tolerate even for a moment, the idea of you being gone or hurt, and how I want to be as close to you as possible right now, and how my rationality is most often compromised when it comes to you, and how my sensors are tuned to you, and how I remember every single useless data about you including how you brush your teeth with your left hand even though you’re right handed and the number of your dormitory room from four years ago, then my only conclusion is that, is that,” Mark pauses, takes a deep breath. “If I’m built in any way that can experience love for another person, then the only person I can be in love with is you.”

The smile that breaks across Eduardo’s face is beautiful. Mark basks in the idea of being the cause of that smile.

“That is the most bizarre and romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” says Eduardo, still grinning that ridiculous smile of his.

Mark says helplessly, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Eduardo’s lips part. “Please do.”

So Mark leans down and presses their mouths together, almost too quickly, because he almost can’t believe that this is true. They bump noses just a bit, and Eduardo chuckles. It lights a smile on Mark’s lips, and he aligns their faces for a proper kiss.

Eduardo’s mouth is warm, gets warmer as they move their lips together and learn the contour of how they fit together. Mark mouths at Eduardo’s lower lip, sucks on it to hear Eduardo gasp most appealingly. He slots their mouths together again, and kisses Eduardo deeper, tasting him and relishing the groan he gets. Mark finds his hand carding through Eduardo’s thick hair without his command, feels a rumble of pleasure as they tangle their tongues together.

He pulls back a little so that Eduardo can breathe, little short gasps against his lips because he isn’t pulling back very far at all. Mark smiles at the warmth of Eduardo under his hands, at the echoing warmth he feels in him even though it makes no sense whatsoever because it should indicate a malfunction.

He doesn’t care.

“My turn,” says Eduardo with a playful smirk, curling his hand in Mark’s hair to pull him down for another kiss.

# # # # # # # # # #

Eduardo is still quick to tire, but they spend a good fifteen minutes kissing before his energy begins to flag. By then, Eduardo’s parents are knocking on the door, so Mark leaves him in their care again. He doesn’t kiss Eduardo goodbye, or say anything of interest with the Saverins there. Mr. Saverin already hates him enough, no need to give him extra reason to hate the robot molesting his son.

Chris, Dustin and nice-Sean are still there, sitting on the chairs in the hallway. For Mark, the day isn’t over yet.

He asks as he approaches the trio, “What’s the name of the man who stabbed Wardo?”

Mark expects Chris to be the one who knows, because he always knows the important details.

Chris squints up at him in suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

“Either you tell me, or I hack into the police database,” points out Mark.

Chris sighs. “Adam Harrison. The police still don’t know why he did it.”

Mark begins his search on Adam Harrison. It’s not easy at first, because the name is common enough. He writes an algorithm – not one as elegant as Eduardo’s lovingly strung variables – to narrow down the search to Adam Harrison in the state, and the areas of Kristen and William’s destructions, narrows the profile down to what he can recall from his database; Caucasian descent, approximately five feet four, blond, blue eyes, age from twenty-one to thirty years old.

He finds websites to Humans First and articles with strong anti-ARTHI sentiment. But the rest of his search results start pinging alarm bells for him.

“Uh, Mark?” asks Chris, but Mark doesn’t bother answering, because most of his processing power is bent towards getting an answer as fast as possible..

“He doesn’t seem to be all there,” says not-Sean. “I’ve seen him like this before, though I thought he was just bored.”

Dustin chimes in, “Don’t worry. He’s probably just doing some programming or search thing through his own internet connection. That’s pretty nifty actually. Wish I could do that.”

“Huh. This explains a lot,” says Chris.

“I can still hear you,” Mark says.

He writes a better algorithm, refines the search further so that he starts cross-referencing searches to do with androids and Eyebook.

“We should get him to order pizza online next time, since he can multitask,” muses Dustin out-loud.

Mark stops his search. He scans an article his search has pulled out.

“I’m not going to be your personal computer slave,” says Mark. “And I know who Adam Harrison is.”

# # # # # # # # # #

Getting access to the police isn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Adam has been silent, refusing to cooperate with the police despite the charges they’ve threatened to lay against him. The police expected Mark to turn up and give them a reaming for making no progress in the hours that have passed. Apparently, that’s the experience they’ve had in the past with the rich, powerful or famous. Mark is thankful for all the douchebags in the world who has set up this expectation. When the police are met with zero screaming, and instead, an offer that Mark can probably get Adam Harrison to confess, they let him in to talk to Adam.

Easy enough. Even if there’s only a 60.1% chance that he’ll succeed.

Getting Chris, Dustin and nice-Sean to stay behind had been harder, but in the end, it was pointless for them to tag along just to wait in the police station. He convinces them to either go home and rest, or go and keep Eduardo company.

Mark stares at the man before him. His wavy blond hair sticks to his forehead, and his blue eyes looks prematurely aged in his unlined face. He stares at Mark with a disturbing intensity, like he can see through the artificial flesh into the machine that is his brain.

“Adam Harrison,” Mark says. “You almost killed me. Maybe you would have, if Wardo hadn’t been there.”

He didn’t really expect a response, and he doesn’t get any.

“It’s unexpected that someone with your stature could have gotten to Kristen. She’s- was a trained fighter and good with many weapons. But William would have been an easy target. He was always a daydreamer, and there’s a high likelihood he would have followed you if you told him you were a fan of his novels,” Mark is rambling now, he knows, but he’s working through his options. “Kristen’s boyfriend thinks she’s still alive, because he can’t imagine that she would lose to anyone, even though her friends at the police force have found- Blood. A lot of her blood, on a street near her patrol area.”

He stops, but Adam just stares at him.

Mark thinks, and decides to take a different approach, “I looked you up. Tried to find your connection to Kristen and William, but I couldn’t find anything. But I did find a strong connection to androids. Not many know, but you’ve had an exposure to a few long before your time in Humans First.”

Mark measures Adam’s discomfort by his pupil dilation, which tells him he’s on the right track.

He recites, “Adam Harrison, a loud member of Humans First, with a position as an online blogger, when he’s not working as a manufacturing supervisor. The articles he writes are angry, ranting pieces, citing inaccurate information and occasionally devolving into illogical nonsense. He has been criticized by some as an example of an anti-ARTHI extremist, and every time Humans First refrains from denouncing his opinions, they get slammed by the public. An hour before the attack at Eyebook’s headquarters, Harrison posted his latest entry saying that Humans First has agreed to kill the most prominent ARTHI.”

This spiel is met by indifference by Adam, even a relaxing in his posture. Mark folds his hands on the table.

“But what is actually the most interesting thing about Adam Harrison is that a year ago, he did not exist,” he stares into Adam’s blue eyes. “But there existed an Adam Cage.”

Adam’s freckles look starker against his paling face, but he doesn’t break down into confessions, like most people tend to do in the movies. Why does reality have to be so much harder? Mark tries to deliver a harder blow.

“In the year 2665, Adam Cage was sixteen years old when his nanny ‘droid, the one who raised him since infancy, was destroyed during a violent protest by Humans First. They were rioting against the passing of the ARTHI Rights bill, which gives human rights to androids. News reports say that the nanny ‘droid, called Harriet, was torn apart in the mall by a small crowd, after she had pushed her ward inside a shop for safety. Adam Cage sustained minor injuries as the shopkeepers kept him from going out to Harriet.”

Mark notices that Adam’s breathing has sped up.

“You were working for Humans First to _undermine_ their work. You were trying to kill me, in the name of Humans First, so that you can set Humans First up as an extremist, murderous group in hopes they’ll be shut down,” says Mark, a flat statement of fact. “You were going to sacrifice yourself to discredit Humans First. Only you would know that you were doing it in the name of Harrison, son of Harry. Or in this case, son of Harriet, in name if not in reality.”

He waits, but other than Adam’s wide, reddened eyes, he gets no verbal response.

Mark offers, “She was like a mother to you. She raised you, probably spent more time with you than your biological, human parents, and Humans First’s mob murdered her in front of you. You were taking revenge. I get that. But in trying to further your cause for androids, you essentially destroyed _other_ androids.”

“Shut up,” says Adam, almost voicelessly.

The whisper surprises Mark, but nothing else is forthcoming.

Mark shrugs, the douchebag-couldn’t-give-a-fuck rise and fall of his shoulders. “I’ve already told the police what I know, and soon, they’ll have to make a statement. When your attempted murder gets trialed, your real identity will get out in the news, and the Humans First protestors will use that. They’ll use you as their martyr, while pointing out that someone like you who grew up with a nanny ‘droid understands the monstrosity of androids. They’ll applaud your actions, while converting others to their cause by using your case as a prime example of someone who must know that ARTHIs are an abomination after the years you’ve lived-”

“Shut the fuck up!” shouts Adam, jerking on the table as if he wants to stand up, but is stopped only by the cuffs attached to the table.

“I will if you tell me about Kristen and William. I don’t care about anything else,” says Mark. “If you don’t at least explain, that’s how this story is going to play out. You know Humans First.”

Adam’s shoulders sag, like even the fragile strength that had held him up is gone. He’s silent for 3.62 minutes, and Mark wonders if this isn’t a lost cause after all.

Then, Adam begins talking, slow and hoarse, “The first one was an accident. It was late, and I was tired, I think I fell asleep at my wheel.”

Mark cuts in, “That shouldn’t matter. Your car would have auto-corrected.”

Adam just stares blankly into the middle-distance. “Not mine. My car is vintage, one of the few without AI. I can’t bear to use anything with AI, just thinking about what if…”

He trails off, but Mark knows what he means. It’s a stupid assumption by those who don’t really understand AIs and their perimeters, but Adam might have years of untreated PTSD to thank for this bit of irrationality, an irrationality that has resulted in tragedy, Mark suspects.

Adam confirms this when he continues, “I don’t know what happened. I think I swerved onto the pavement, but there was a crash, and when I got out of the car- There was. She was still wearing her cop uniform, and she was sma- smashed. Totally smashed between a tree and my car. She looked so human, and God, there was so much blood everywhere, but it didn’t make sense, because there were wires too, and electronic parts, I could see, the electricity sparking in her.

“And she wasn’t dead yet. She told me to hide her, please hide her, don’t let Jason know, call William, he’ll help, call William. She was just repeating Jason and William over and over again, like this broken player, and her eyes were just flat. Then she went silent. I don’t remember what happened next. I must have collected all her parts and put her in the car, because, later on, these broken pieces were all, they were all in my basement. Like I was some crazy murderer collecting body parts.”

Mark wishes Eduardo was here with him, a solid line of comforting warmth against his side. He wishes Eduardo was here so Mark can lean against him as he hears about how Kristen met her end, how William will meet his too.

Adam’s eyes look glassy as he retells his experience, “I found ID on her, and a few weapons. I did some research, and found a William who was her close friend. They lived in the same neighborhood. But when I tried to talk to William, about how Kristen was an android, he went mad. He denied everything, and when I said she was dead, he was crying, and then he was _surprised_ he could cry, and I knew, knew he was an ARTHI too, but he still lied.”

For a brief moment, Adam’s horror is subsumed by an almost crazed fury. “Do you know how far he, and you, all of you, could advance the cause for ARTHIs if you came out to the world now and showed them how developed ARTHIs can be? So many think they’re unnatural because of their stiff expressions and speech. But you cowards hide, and you don’t understand how much luxury you have to be able to blend in with the crowd, you’re so fucking selfish, and you won’t even help those of the same kind, you think they don’t deserve it-”

Mark doesn’t need to hear more of this. “You took William. You made him tell you about the rest of us.”

“He just told me about you, the last one, and the most successful with the least to fear, who’s still hiding,” spits out Adam, visibly enraged, to the point where he looks like he wants to punch Mark.

Mark took a psychology class in Harvard, trying to understand the human mind – and maybe his own processing – better. He knows misdirected anger when he sees it.

But Adam is still ranting in a low, angry voice. “I thought, I thought if you’re too much of a coward to show how far ARTHIs can go, how they can be just like any other human, then I was going to expose you, I was going to leak the truth to the news. And I realized I could do two things, I could show the world who their beloved tech genius really is, and I could make you a martyr, make them hate Humans First.”

It was a crazy, stupid idea. After all, Mark had discovered his real identity in the matter of minutes.

But then again, it would seem like an open-and-shut case; A Humans First supporter attacking an ARTHI. No surprise there.

Few people have the same history as Mark. Not many have the article of Harriet the android’s death imprinted in their memory, one of the first two articles he had read on Ejection Day. The memory of Adam’s face was marred by Mark’s shock when he saw him for the first time over Eduardo’s prone body. But finding Adam’s pictures on the internet had triggered Mark’s memory of the bereft sixteen year old in the article from 2665.

Mark shakes his head. “I’m not here to debate your attempted homicide with you. I just wanted to know what happened to Kristen and William, and now I know. I can give their friends and family some closure with the news of their deaths.”

Adam stares before completely slumping in his seat, like he’s given up. “I don’t know if William is dead.”

Mark straightens. “Where is he?”

So Adam tells him, explains everything else.

At the end of it, Mark stands up as Adam stares blankly at his hands, muttering, “I don’t know what I’m doing. Harriet, what am I doing?”

Mark’s one act of mercy to Adam that day is to tell the police that it would be criminal if they don’t have a psychiatrist evaluate Adam Harrison’s mental health. What Adam did to Eduardo, Mark doesn’t believe he deserves any mercy. But he knows Eduardo would want to give him some anyway.

# # # # # # # # # #

They find William in a caravan far outside the city, too far away from any wireless connections to go online and call for help. He’s damaged, and in complete shutdown. The police want to take him back to the hospital, but Mark points out that there’s no one more qualified to do this than Mark.

It gets a bit gruesome from there. Mark does it in the privacy of the caravan, with a couple curious, forensic scientists from the police department watching. He punctures William’s chest with a small scalpel, and makes a face at the blood-like fluid seeping out. He pushes a hard cable between William’s ribs, following the instructions he has embedded in his memory. The receiver is exactly where he remembers, and the cable clicks into the receiver.

Their Cores are their batteries, their hearts that keep them alive. But without sunlight, food, water, and combined with the isolation, all primary systems go into shutdown in seven days. After three days, Beta shuts down as well. Another seven days after that, their Core slows to a complete stop.

If the Core is to be restarted, a boost is needed.

There really should be a much easier way to do this, but it’s not like they could have a big button or socket embedded in the back of their necks without arousing suspicion.

Checking the cable one last time, Mark turns on the Core kickstart pack. It comes in the form of the faintest jolts he feels through the cable, and the sudden stiffening of William’s limp body. Mark extracts the tube quickly, and drops a nanobot cube on the bleeding wound. It disintegrates into little skittering nanobots around the wound, and Mark’s vision zooms in to watch how they repair the small wound in seconds, leaving the silicon skin unblemished again. The nanobots form a smaller cube, light as they are on the resources used to repair William’s injury, and Mark pockets the cube again.

William slowly comes back to life.

When William blinks awake, he begins crying immediately and clinging to Mark. William is the cousin he never really bonded with, his head too far in the clouds for Mark’s comfort. Still, Mark pats him awkwardly, before finally detaching himself.

William starts babbling everything, about how he was knocked out, hard enough to go into emergency mode and how his Beta system had taken over. How William’s Beta had given up Mark’s origins, because Adam had threatened to kill him, and by William’s emergency mode logic, Mark is the one in the best position to deal with someone like Adam. Kristen would be the top of the list for something like that, but Kristen was- Kristen’s body was-

Mark cuts him off with an awkward hug and allows William to cry on him some more.

# # # # # # # # # #

They find a morbid pile of Kristen’s parts in Adam’s basement. There isn’t much blood, probably most of it left at the place of the accident or in Adam’s car.

There isn’t enough there to revive Kristen.

# # # # # # # # # #

When he tells all this to Eduardo, who is recovering in the hospital, Eduardo holds Mark’s hand and stays silent as Mark grips back painfully.

# # # # # # # # # #

**Epilogue**

Eduardo recovers well. By the time he’s ready to leave, all the nurses are in love with him, regardless of their gender or origins. It drives Mark mad with jealousy, the way they all fawn over Eduardo while he smiles at them and ducks his head to reveal his stupid long neck and stupid messy hair. When he holds Eduardo’s hand possessively, they just seem even more lovestruck, which _makes no sense_.

While Eduardo’s signing his discharge papers, Mr. Saverin corners Mark, much to his displeasure. It seems Eduardo’s father is also a contender for Mark’s position as most expressionless bastard in the room, because Mark is unable to read him at all. He has no prior experience as a baseline, so he can’t run comparisons or projections.

Mr. Saverin begins, “Eduardo has always done whatever he wants when it comes to you, even back at Harvard.”

Mark is taken aback by this statement. He had always thought that Eduardo had always done whatever his father wanted him to do, especially back at Harvard. He doesn’t say anything, and Mr. Saverin takes this as a sign to keep talking.

“I didn’t want him to invest in a ridiculous college project that had no potential and no projections for profit. But he did it anyway.”

Mark would protest about the way Eyebook is being described, but he’s still trying to process the idea that Mr. Saverin didn’t approve of the investment. He always thought that Mr. Saverin had been proud to have Eduardo’s name attached to their website, and Eduardo had never told him otherwise.

“Then I didn’t want him to quit his internship for something that had no other investments, but he did anyway. I wanted him to sue you, but he took an unnecessarily long time to get around to it,” says Mr. Saverin. “So he’s a stubborn boy, when it comes to you, and I don’t know why, because you’re nothing but arrogance and trouble.”

Mr. Saverin doesn’t look to be waiting for verbal input, so Mark just gives him a slow, pointed shrug.

“So I’m not going to protest whatever happens next. It will be pointless. But if you hurt my son again…”

Mr. Saverin trails off, lips stretching into what could be a smile, in the loosest, most blood-thirsty sense of the word. “Then we’ll have a talk again. On my grounds.”

With that said, Mr. Saverin stalks away.

He’s pretty spry for an old guy. That was the longest conversation Mark has been in where he hasn’t needed to say a single word.

Mark isn’t intimidated. He’s an android. He doesn’t do ‘intimidated’.

Right.

Eduardo finds Mark with his hands stuck in his hoodie pockets, waiting impatiently for his arrival while he scans the internet for interesting news on Eduardo. So far, there’s no hint of Eduardo’s discharge in the news, which is good.

“So…my parents are going back to Florida,” says Eduardo tentatively.

Mark nods. “I know.”

Eduardo fidgets for a moment there, eyes meeting Mark’s gaze with a hint of hesitance. “I was thinking of staying in California for a bit more. Maybe catch up with everyone without the looming prospect of a murderer out there, you know-”

“Stay with me,” Mark says quickly.

Eduardo looks surprised but pleased. “Yeah, alright.”

Mark hadn’t gotten to the position he’s in right now without learning when to leap at opportunities. He smiles at Eduardo, which wins him a grin.

In the past, Eduardo’s the one who like putting a hand on Mark’s lower back if they were walking close to each other. Mark takes a turn at it this time, pressing a gentle hand to Eduardo’s back as he leads him out of the hospital. He understands the attraction of the position.

# # # # # # # # # #

In the one week Mark spent practically living in the hospital with Eduardo, they haven’t done much more than hold hands and steal quick kisses. He suspects Mrs. Saverin must know what was happening, with the way she raised her eyebrows when she walked into Eduardo’s hospital room sometimes. But Mark isn’t willing to broach this subject with the other Saverins, not when things seem so fragile and ephemeral at the moment.

Mark isn’t sure that what he and Eduardo have will last outside the horror of near-deaths and the highs of love confessions.

For the first time, they’re alone together for longer than half an hour, and Mark has no idea what to do. He isn’t used to feeling this way, and briefly considers consulting Chris with a subtle text message. After all, Chris is in a long-term relationship with nice-Sean. His track record is a lot better than Mark’s. Or Eduardo’s come to think of that.

“What are you overthinking?” asks Eduardo. “I can hear your cogs whirring away.”

They’re in the living room, just talking about Dustin’s attempts to hire a young hacker who had played a prank on Eyebook’s pages. Dustin had been boasting about finding a young version of Mark, despite Mark pointing out that unless this hacker is also a highly-creative, rule-breaking android, the chances are slim.

Mark says facetiously, “My processor is made out of highly advanced electronics, fibretechnology and the highest quality silicon. There are no cogs.”

Eduardo rolls his eyes. “Metaphorical cogs. Come on, tell me.”

Instead of delving into his fears, Mark brings up something else he had been thinking on, “I wonder if Adam Harrison will go to jail.”

Eduardo crosses his legs, giving the notion some thought. “I guess it depends on what the psychiatrists say in his mental evaluation. I tried to look up news on that, but I don’t think there’s anything out yet.”

“No, there isn’t,” Mark confirms. “I’m tracking updates on that case.”

Eduardo nods, before mentioning with false casualness, “You know, I saw some news footage of what happened.”

Mark hasn’t, because he had front row seats to the real life event, and he doesn’t need to see Eduardo bleeding from a knife in his gut ever again.

When Mark just tilts his head, Eduardo continues with a smile, “And I’ve read about the public sentiment concerning your identity as an ARTHI. It’s been mostly positive and very supportive too.”

“I know, the polls and discussions have been surprisingly accepting. I wonder if it’s because they’ve always suspected I’m an ARTHI,” says Mark with a frown.

“How can you be so clueless sometimes? It’s because they could relate to you,” says Eduardo with a huff.

“What?” asks Mark, unused to this feeling of confusion.

“You were crying,” Eduardo says, voice lowering like it deserves a quiet awe. “Every news media has been rolling the footage of you crying over your injured friend, and those…well, touching words you were saying to me.”

Eduardo looks a little pink at the recollection.

Mark frowns even more. “A few tears are enough for them to relate?”

“It’s human to be afraid, and human to cry, to be vulnerable. That’s what people think subconsciously anyway. When they saw you feeling so openly, I think it made the strongest case for your speech ever, that you’re alive. In a way, my getting stabbed and your crying were probably the fastest and-”

Mark moves closer and clamps a hand over Eduardo’s moving lips.

His voice is low and intense when he says, “You getting stabbed was the worst thing that ever happened to me. The _worst_.”

Eduardo blinks wide eyes and nods slowly. When Mark determines that Eduardo believes him and isn’t going to spout anymore stupidity, Mark lets him go reluctantly.

“Mark, I know, I was just joking,” says Eduardo weakly.

“Don’t joke about that,” says Mark.

Eduardo nods and turns Mark’s hand over to press his lips against Mark’s palm. “Alright.”

He kisses Mark’s palm again, affectionate and warm, almost worshipful when Eduardo’s the one who should be worshipped.

He can’t see Eduardo’s face anymore, because he has it ducked lower, face turned away. Mark feels overwhelmed. He doesn’t realize he’s moving until he sees his own hand on Eduardo’s cheek, turning that angular face back towards him. He wants to see those dark eyes on him, he wants to _always_ see those dark eyes on him.

Before he thinks about what he wants to do or say to convey these intentions, Mark realizes he’s already leaning closer than would be normal behavior, and Eduardo’s wide eyes are filling his vision.

That’s _hope_ , he thinks. That’s hope he sees in Eduardo’s eyes, and it’s beautiful.

He presses his lips to Eduardo’s own, because he sees no other course of action available for him. It has to be this. It makes sense, all logic leads to this. There is no if, else, case. It’s only this. For all variables where Eduardo equals to this expression, Mark will always press his lips to Eduardo’s, an infinite loop.

Eduardo kisses him back.

There is no further analysis or thinking in a moment like this.

Mark has a hand around Eduardo’s neck, curled possessively, as he presses deeper, kisses Eduardo’s lips open so that he can lick into his mouth and categorize his every minute taste and texture. He feels a hand gripping his own shoulder, tightening when Eduardo makes a low sound of pleasure, deep in the back of his throat. That sound ignites a frenzy in Mark, like all his code is triggered into desperate action. He wraps his other arm around Eduardo, pressing closer so that he can kiss him harder, mold their bodies together as their lips move together so pleasurably.

He pulls back so that Eduardo can breathe. He needs it less, but he finds himself panting, his Core almost pulsing all the faster.

“Wardo, I’ve wanted you for so long,” sighs Mark against those reddened lips, running a thumb along that perfect jawline.

Eduardo shivers in his arms, pushing a hand up the back of Mark’s shirt. “Mark, wait.  Wait-”

But he doesn’t want to. He presses a kiss to the side of Eduardo’s lips, because there’s this indentation there that Mark feels he needs to kiss, learns the feel of it against his lips. He memorizes the soft skin against his thumb as he strokes from that perfect jaw, down to that ridiculously attractive neck.

“I don’t want to.” He would deny sounding petulant, because he’s not petulant. Robots aren’t petulant.

To strengthen his point, he kisses Eduardo on the lips again, and Eduardo seems to agree because he opens up immediately for Mark. Those soft lips mouth against his own, pulling on Mark’s lower lip, swiping a tongue against it.

Then the inviting warmth is interrupted when Eduardo pulls back. He’s smiling though, still running a hand up Mark’s spine, which makes him shiver in return. They share breaths for a moment.

“Just let me ask you this. When you were dating Erica, and whoever else you dated afterwards, did you- Was that- Were you, well, together?” Eduardo asks, barely coherent.

Mark is an android of significantly higher processing power than most humans and ARTHIs. He knows what Eduardo is trying to say. It doesn’t mean he’s going to make it easier for Eduardo by answering immediately. Especially not after he brings up past relationships when he’s supposed to be kissing Mark.

“Of course we were together. That’s the definition of dating. I didn’t expect a reduction in your intellectual acuity so quickly,” says Mark, not realizing his lips have curved upwards just the slightest bit until it’s too late.

Eduardo rolls his eyes, leans forward to lick against that faint smile, before saying. “You asshole, you know what I mean. Did you have sex? How completely human is your body?”

Mark presses closer on the couch, lets Eduardo feels his hard-on against his hip. “Completely well manufactured. The initial objective was to create the perfect spy of course, a non-functioning or detachable dick would have been a giveaway.”

He notes the dilation of Eduardo’s eyes, the flare of arousal.

“Maybe I should check, just to be sure,” says Eduardo, reaching a hand down to squeeze Mark’s cock through his pants.

Mark gasps, and smiles. “A thorough check is only logical.”

Eduardo is grinning at him, touching his lips with some awe. “Yes, of course. Now are you going to fuck me, or what?”

Laughing, Mark starts pulling at his shirt, popping some buttons in his haste to get it off Eduardo. It’s an obvious reason why Eduardo should really stop wearing formal clothing. Eduardo returns the favor by yanking on his hoodie until Mark lifts his hand so that he can throw it off. They both make a mess of trying to take each other’s pants off, but after a few breathless gropes, and demanding tugs, they’re finally lying naked on the couch.

“You don’t wear underwear,” says Eduardo, accusatory.

“It’s a pointless garment,” replies Mark between hard sucks of Eduardo’s neck.

“I’m going to be very distracted every time I see you outside,” murmurs Eduardo, and Mark is pleased at this thought. He rewards it with another lovebite, relishes the gasps Eduardo makes.

Soon enough, he has Eduardo wriggling underneath him on the couch, one hand pinching a dark nipple while he bites at the sharp edge of Eduardo’s collarbone.

“Can we hurry up?” asks Eduardo, curling his leg around Mark’s thighs and pushing up wantonly so that they rub their erections together.

Mark grunts at the jolt of pleasure, bites just a little harder. “I want to be thorough.”

“And I want to really make sure you’re a fully functioning boy,” says Eduardo with a breathless laugh, pushing up again with his hips.

“What if I hadn’t been?” asks Mark idly, pushing up to look at Eduardo. “What if I was like a Ken doll, all flat below.”

Eduardo tilts his head in consideration, and then shrugs awkwardly while flat on the couch. “I would have just rolled with it then.”

Mark frowns. “You would still want to try this?”

“Mark, I don’t know what you think we’re doing here, but the person I like is _you_ , and whatever condition you came in, you would still be you,” says Eduardo, in his typical confusing yet moving way.

“You really are a ridiculous human,” whispers Mark, pressing another hard kiss against those inviting lips.

Then he slips a hand between the couch’s cushions and pulls out a tube of lubrication.

Eduardo pulls back to give it a side glance. “Why do you keep lube in your couch?”

“Because I watch porn on my wall-TV here,” points out Mark.

Really, it should be obvious. Masturbating feels good, and why wouldn’t he do it in front of the biggest TV he has in the house? Eduardo seems to get it, because he just shrugs and pulls one leg up. It leaves him open to Mark’s gaze, trips his processing into short stutters.

“Fuck,” he swears, almost fumbles the tube as he squeezes lubrication out onto his fingers.

Eduardo makes a sinuous hip roll, just to drive Mark that little bit more unhinged. “Hurry up, Mark.”

“You’re just asking for it,” says Mark in a low voice, pushing a slippery finger into Eduardo’s hole.

“What are you going to do about it?” Eduardo smirks, pulling his leg higher.

Mark leans down to kiss him harder, kiss him silent before Mark loses all higher functions, and presses another finger in. He should be taking it slower, but Eduardo doesn’t seem to want it slower, is pushing back against his fingers with an approving moan. Mark bites and licks at his lips as he thrusts with his fingers, grinding them in to make Eduardo shudder and part his lips in soft pants. He adds another finger to stretch him out, but Eduardo is losing his patience, his fingers biting into Mark’s shoulders as he pushes back harder.

“Alright,” murmurs Mark, getting the hint.

He pulls out his fingers and lubricates his hard cock, biting his own lip at the spike in arousal. He’s going to fuck Eduardo now, Eduardo who’s on the couch, legs spread so that one is poised on the floor. The sight is amazing, and he runs his hands up those trembling thighs for a moment.

“I can’t get or transmit STDs. No condoms?” says Mark, and Eduardo nods, eyes wide and lips still wet and parted. That’s enough permission for him.

He starts pushing in, watches Eduardo for every flicker of his eyes, memorizes the slightest grimace and clenching of that jaw. But Eduardo doesn’t let him stop, pulls at his hips with an unforgiving force. Mark doesn’t really want to stop either, so he presses on in shallow thrusts until he’s flushed against Eduardo’s ass. He grits his teeth, trying to summon control and slow the slippery-quick hurricane of thoughts.

“Come on, come on,” groans Eduardo, pushing up with his hips.

Mark grunts and pulls out a little just to shove in hard. “Fuck, Wardo. You feel so good.”

Eduardo pulls him into a demanding kiss, generous with his teeth and tongue. The angle is all wrong now, but he tries to thrust, only Eduardo clenches down which makes it harder. They pull apart, and Eduardo starts writhing impatiently.

“Mark,” he gasps, trying to prop his leg up on the back of the couch, while Mark tries to adjust their hips for a better position.

It’s bad timing, with him giving in to a helpless thrust, while Eduardo’s moving, and then they’re tilting off the couch. Amidst flailing limbs and stuttered curses, they tumble off the couch.

The quick spin finally stops, and when he opens his eyes again, he has his back to the carpet with Eduardo sprawled on top of him.

“So much for quicker reflexes than humans,” grumbles Eduardo, pushing himself up on one hand.

Mark frowns. “I was distracted. And I think you broke my dick.”

He’s lying. His cock is still stiff and throbbing, now cold and lonely without Eduardo’s perfect ass around it. Eduardo looks down at Mark’s erection with a raised eyebrow, and wraps a hand around it. He gives an experimental tug, which causes Mark to arch up.

“I better do a thorough check then, just in case,” says Eduardo helpfully.

Fuck, he loves helpful Eduardo.

Eduardo slowly lowers himself onto Mark’s cock, face a picture of concentration as he works himself down. Mark’s fingers dig into Eduardo’s bony knees, trying not to thrust up despite the desperate urge to do so. Eduardo looks so hot like this, fucking himself on Mark’s cock, he can barely resist this. He gets a flicker of memory to the dream he had not so long ago, but it pales in comparison to the real Eduardo in his lap, the faint afternoon sun striping his shoulders as he arches on Mark.

Fully seated, Eduardo rolls his hips in mind-numbing circular motions. Mark can feel his erection shifting in Eduardo’s tight, hot grip, and he bites his lips, runs equations to stave off his orgasm. In this way, he has to be better than a human, because he doubts humans had such excellent control over their bodies. No human can when faced with an Eduardo, all sweaty, flushed skin, and lanky limbs, rocking his hips at the feeling of Mark in him – no human can resist that surely.

Mark wants him to feel better than amazing. He wants to see Eduardo fall apart in his hands.

He slides his hands up from his grip on Eduardo’s knees, trailing his fingers up those spread inner thighs. Eduardo’s eyes snap open, lips part in a throaty groan. When Mark finally reaches his cock, just touches against that wet tip, Eduardo starts to tremble.

“You’re so wet here,” he murmurs, smearing the precome around the head of Eduardo’s flushed cock.

Eduardo cries out and lifts himself up just to drop himself down again. Groaning, Mark starts pulling at his cock.

“Does this feel good, Wardo? Do you like how I feel in you, and jerking you off?” Mark asks, voice modulated so that he could be talking about the weather.

Eduardo is riding him in earnest now, thighs flexing and hips moving fast as he fucks himself harder on Mark’s erection. He starts leaking from his cock, making Mark’s grip slippery and all the better.

“Mark, Mark, yes, please,” he moans. “I’m not going to, fuck, _fuck_ , I’m- I’m-”

“Yeah, come on, Wardo, let me see you come,” says Mark, tightening his grip while pushing up just as Eduardo grinds down.

He can almost feel the stiff cock in his hand pulse, jerk as Eduardo comes so hard, back arched and head thrown back, crying out without shame. Mark swears and keeps fucking up into him, jerks him through his orgasm as semen spills all over Mark’s stomach and chest.

“Oh yeah, oh fuck,” says Eduardo incoherently, pushing his cock through Mark’s wet hands.

Eduardo just came all over him, is still sitting on his dick in fact, and Mark can’t take it anymore. In a sudden lunge, he tips Eduardo backwards and pushes himself up. He quickly has Eduardo flat on his back, with Mark hovering over him, cock still deep in him. Eduardo blinks up, wide dark eyes dazed from his orgasm and sudden movement.

“Wardo, let me, please,” says Mark, thrusting once in question.

Eduardo jerks, over-sensitive from his orgasm, but he nods, still panting.

Almost frantic, Mark pushes Eduardo’s thighs wider and thrusts hard into him. Eduardo twists in his arms, gasping at the stimulation while he’s still sensitive. But Mark is relentless, and pounds into him, continues to push against his prostate from the way Eduardo starts crying out and writhing. Mark realizes that Eduardo’s dick is still hard, and he begins jerking him off again. He thinks Eduardo is actually crying now, face wet from either sweat or tears as he pushes back against Mark and away at the same time, like the pleasure is overwhelming.

Mark thinks he knows how he feels. He grunts and swears, fucking into Eduardo hard as he utilizes his every coordination to keep pulling at that wet cock. Little cries escape those soft parted lips, a continuous stream of ‘uh, uh’ interspaced by Mark’s name. Mark doesn’t want to hold out any longer, bends closer as he finds the best angle for this. He works over Eduardo’s body intensely, harder and faster, until he feels Eduardo just tighten all over, muscles clenching. He feels Eduardo start to come again, fuck _again_ , all around him. Then, Eduardo is leaning up a little and biting at Mark’s shoulder, fingers clawing down Mark’s back like he can’t help it.

Mark jerks and groans and comes in Eduardo hard, hips thrusting in broken spurts and jolts as he spills inside Eduardo.

“Oh, Wardo,” he mutters nonsensically, kissing Eduardo blindly as he pumps his hips through his orgasm.

Eduardo hugs him tightly around the shoulders, and Mark takes this as a sign to collapse onto him. They lie there for a moment, sticky skin pressed close together, racing heartbeats thrumming in time. Mark almost feels like he’s hyperventilating, based on how fast he’s breathing.

“Everything functioning as it should?” he asks, mumbling into Eduardo’s neck.

Eduardo squirms a little before settling. “Yes. And evidence points to you definitely being a robot. A fucking machine. A machine made for fucking.”

His words are slurred, like he’s too drained to enunciate.

“I exist to please,” Mark informs him, before sucking a lazy kiss into the side of that lovely neck.

# # # # # # # # # #

They talk late into the night after cleaning up and relocating to Mark’s room, like they can’t bear to sleep and be apart for a moment. Eduardo thinks that this might be a dream because it’s too easy, that he’ll wake up to find Mark gone, or permanently damaged from a thrown explosive. Mark knows this because Eduardo tells him that, in quiet whispers, with his head tilted into the pillow like he can’t bear to be seen as he confesses.

Mark trails a hand down the side of Eduardo’s face. “We’re going too fast, aren’t we?”

He knows it to be the truth. Every movie and book and personal interaction he has watched confirms it. They should work on their friendship before leaping into this. He doesn’t know how Eduardo is so willing to try again, and risk being burnt once more, but he’s helplessly grateful for it.

Eduardo shrugs a bare, rounded shoulder. “Maybe. But if what happened in the past hasn’t destroyed this- what we have now, then I don’t know if a little speed will do that much harm. Are you having second, wait, third thoughts?”

“No. But you should be,” says Mark, honest and unhappy that he’s so honest.

“It’s not just- I’m not just doing this for you,” Eduardo tries, turning his head to meet his gaze again. “I’m selfish too. I want this. I’ve missed you, and I’ve missed what we had, what all four of us had, and I spent a lot of time wondering what we could have had between the two of us if things were, well, different.”

“I hadn’t even realized that this was a possibility,” admits Mark.

Eduardo curls closer so that they’re sharing the same, warm air. “It always was.”

They lie there quietly for a moment, Mark kneading and scratching Eduardo’s scalp, towards the nape of his neck. He notes every contented sigh and head tilt that Eduardo makes in response, recording it for future moments like this.

Future.

Mark whispers, “I don’t think I was ready back then.”

“Hm?” asks Eduardo sleepily.

“I had…there was still a lot of development I had to go through. 90% of my concentration was on Eyebook, and I didn’t realize- Even if we had started something back then, I don’t know what would have happened. I don’t have enough data to compute it, but I think I would have fucked it up anyway.”

He tries to steady his voice, sound analytical, but he doesn’t think he succeeds.

Eduardo tips his head up, opens his eyes a little. “You’ve grown up now, is what you’re saying.”

Mark frowns. “That’s entirely inaccurate.”

“But exactly what you meant. I get it, Mark. I think we all grew up some,” murmurs Eduardo, eyes fluttering shut again. “Now, go to sleep. We’ll both need to reenergize for round two.”

Whatever else Mark is going to say evaporates upon hearing Eduardo’s words. He looks at those thick, dark lashes, and soft, parted lips. He thinks he won’t mind being quiet for awhile, soaking up the moment.

After a few minutes, his body switches seamlessly into sleep mode.

He dreams of steady breathing, and a soft smile on a gentle, sleeping face. He dreams of those eyes fluttering open and that smile widening into a fond grin. He dreams of dark eyes looking at him with love, his base code unfolding and flowing to curve him towards that expression.

Then he blinks slowly awake, and he watches as his dream blurs into reality. He writes the image of that sleepy affection on Eduardo’s face permanently to his memory, the first of many to come.

# # # # # # # # # #

** THE END **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to my amazing beta [elefante_locura](http://elefante_locura.livejournal.com)! [hitlikehammers](http://hitlikehammers.livejournal.com) and [gardinha](http://gardinha.livejournal.com) have respectively created an awesome [fanvid](http://hitlikehammers.livejournal.com/151409.html) and [fanmix](http://gardinha.livejournal.com/5868.html) as part of the TSN Big Bang! :D
> 
> Random Things That Might Be of Interest:
> 
> 1\. In this fic, Mark checks that their site update has reduced the loading speed of their site by 0.2 seconds. Back to our time and reality, a test Amazon did a couple years ago showed that every 0.1s increase in loading time of Amazon.com decreased sales by 1%. (There are other factors to take into account on the actual load time on the user’s side, but it gives an idea of how big an impact this can be. TL;DR: People are impatient.)
> 
> 2\. Theoretically, the laser-plasma gun works by using lasers to form an electrically conductive plasma channel, and an electric current is sent down this plasma channel. Such technology already exists now, but work is still being done on such weapons.
> 
> 3\. Biomedical sciences have made leaps and bounds in progress when it comes [to growing/regenerating organs](http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/03/big-idea/organ-regeneration-text). It’s already possible to do so with some organs, but obviously, in this story, the process is much enhanced and sped up. I did some medical research on other things mentioned in this fic (and kinda wish I didn’t visit that surgical website with all those pictures), and then I made some changes to factor in that they’re in the future.
> 
> 4\. I pondered over the date of the setting, but decided on something within the millennium. I wonder if we’ll have androids by the year 2665, but considering that personal computers were only made in 1981, and the first electronic computer was developed in 1948, I think humankind has made pretty vast leaps forward in a pretty short time.
> 
> 5\. The flight from Singapore to the US doesn’t take only five hours right now, but I like to imagine that we’ve made some great advances in air travel.
> 
> 6\. I don't know if many people know this, but something I found interesting and I slipped in here is that real life Dustin did hire a hacker, Chris Putnam, who played a prank on Facebook. (Putnam spread a worm by exploiting a weakness in the Facebook page and made infected Facebook profiles look like MySpace. He purposely left a trail so Dustin contacted him.)
> 
>  
> 
> Finalfinal note: The Eyebook chat window miiiight look sorta familiar. In my defense, I had all these ideas about how it should look like, but I'm limited by my non-existent Photoshop skills. So this is the pale version of how I imagine the future Eyebook chat would be like. I also have an idea of how the Eyebook Tree looks like, but alas, my skills fall far short of my imagination so I gave up.


End file.
